Prom Night Ch. 07

My spine was turning to Jello from the feeling of my lover hitting that spot deep within me—that special place only he knew—and my mouth opened wide. I couldn't make a sound or even form a thought. All I knew was the pleasure James kept hitting again and again as he continued to ease himself in me and out of me and that I didn't want it to stop. I rode the waves of that tingling sensation as it shot from my ass up my back to my brain, until I felt that nothing could be better than this with someone you love.

(And did I really just think of love?)

Fuck if I knew. I didn't understand the thought even after it entered my mind—like it was written in a language completely foreign to the pleasure language my body was experiencing. Only able to comprehend the nuances of those pleasure waves as they came and receded...came and receded...came and receded and came and receded and came and receded until my brain was nothing but the constant joy.

I felt wetness on my pelvis, but I couldn't even lift my head to make sense of what it was or look at it. My face frozen in that incredible pleasure, all I could do was gaze at James as he thrust a little steadier into me. His chest rising and falling with ragged breathing as his gaze burned into me to the point that I wondered if his mind was as void as mine. Knowing that it must have been and loving him for it when the concept of love no longer made sense. When it was lost in those churning waves of bliss that were growing larger and larger with his every thrust.

I loved those waves a little more each time they flowed through me, my hole twitching its love around him every time he thrust into me. And as those blissful waves built larger and larger, I watched James angle his head back, looking to the heavens as he enjoyed me. Hearing his breathing quicken into a pant.

His gaze fell back to me, our eyes locking on each other like two lost souls who found home. James's mouth opened but could not form words. Like my jaw, his too hung open. His voice making miniscule formations of sounds in an almost completely inaudible volume that might have been words if he could have formed them.

But I understood them.

He was close. And so was I. I could feel that volcano of pressure forming within me. Threatening to erupt. But my body fought it as best it could, my pelvis muscles tightening to try to contain it. To keep in that physical solace which threatened to drain every ounce of my being if it were unleashed. I felt like a water balloon being overflowed with only my thin efforts keeping me from popping into crazed spray. I fought the eruption as best I could, and when I felt myself losing the battle, I continued to fight just so I could feel our love making just a few seconds longer. Understanding that this was my place—in bed with someone truly special—and never wanting to give it up for anything.

But I could feel James tensing too. His thrusts were getting a little more blunt—still slow but just rough enough that I knew he too was fighting the losing battle against his own eruption. He stared at me, his expression seemingly dumbfounded that someone could make him feel this way, and I closed my eyes if only to burn that picture into my brain forever.

Then I lost the battle.

The pleasure reached its peak, and my twitching cock spewed its love all over myself. With a gasp big enough to make my brain rush with oxygen, I felt the bliss which had been threatening to break free of me finally burst. It washed over every inch of me, leaving me whimper as I teetered on the verge of coming down from it.

James grunted, and I felt him follow me. His hardness hit home within me only one more time, and then he was twitching inside me. Filling me with the liquid love he had for me. I felt his hot semen shoot inside me, welcoming the full and warm feeling of him spreading inside my hole.

I opened my eyes again, panting. He only shook his head with that same soft look, and I understood he was in as much disbelief as I was that something could feel so good—so right—that our places in the world were exactly where they should be. That even if we couldn't put anything in words yet, our hearts spoke the same language. That they knew our connection was—

(Love?)

—something sacred that doesn't just happen every day.

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't bring myself to break the moment we'd made. So I took his hand in mine, and we shared a smile. Knowing exactly what we meant even if no words were used.

***

Just before I dressed and left the apartment, I almost felt myself tell him I loved him. But before I could, I held the words on my lips, uncertain just how to put it into words. We had lost track of time together again, lying in each other's arms in the darkened bedroom till just after midnight, telling each other secrets and making out. Funny stories and jokes from our lives intermixed with one or two feelings, until it seemed like the humor was our way of trying to put distance between the uncomfortable conversations of our predicament even when our hearts timidly wanted to embrace more of each other.

When I finally got home, I kept my head down, fearful that my father might be upset since it was the latest yet I'd arrived home. But true to that fatherly secret he'd once imparted a few weeks ago that he didn't mind me being out late, he didn't scold me when I came through the door. He only sat there watching some late-night movie, giving me the same nod when he saw me.

I thought of going right to my room again, still wanting to hide from the inevitable conversations with him about my sexuality. But something tonight felt better. Remembering the feel of James's arms around me—knowing that he cared about me—I was at ease enough that the idea of talking to him didn't seem as scary if I didn't focus on it too much. So before I could stop myself, I entered the living room and took a seat on the sofa near him.

"What are you watching?"

"Murder at 1600, I think it's called." He shrugged without looking at me. "It's pretty good so far, but I didn't catch the beginning."

I nodded and watched as Diane Lane fired a gun at a helicopter. Not daring to break the silence more than that. We watched like that for a while, and it seemed like the longer the movie went on, the less confident I was becoming. Maybe I wasn't ready for this. Maybe I could just hide away a little bit longer—putting off the discomfort of being near my father for a few days...a few weeks...maybe even till I went to college.

Just as Diane Lane and Wesley Snipes were entering a secret tunnel near the Washington Monument, my father seemed to take the initiative. "You know, you'll want to hide that hickey from your mother."

I froze, no longer able to focus on the movie. Fear flooded me, making me wonder how I could have been so careless not to check my neck before sitting down. Whatever confidence I had to handle being near my father vanished as the reality he must know set in. I bit my lip, trying to think of some response that would convince him the mark on my neck wasn't what he thought it was.

"Relax," he continued. "I'm just telling you so you don't catch twenty questions from Mom. Take a really hot shower tonight and tomorrow night with the water focused on that mark, and it'll probably be gone." I saw him turn to me and smile out of the corner of my eye. "I've had my share of those when I was your age."

I blushed a little, thankful he was trying to help me. A smile spread across my face, but for the life of me, I couldn't think of anything to say in response. So, I only said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Dad replied. For a few seconds, there was silence with only the sounds of Hollywood gunfire on the TV screen. And I could tell there was probably more that my father wanted to say—but that he wasn't sure how.

When it seemed like that quiet would go on forever, I managed to find the courage to help him talk too. "You know..." I trailed off for a little before putting my words in the best order. "I'm sorry about that night a little while back."

"Nothing to be sorry about; you weren't comfortable. And I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."

I nodded and looked down at my lap. The topic had been brought up, much to both of our awkwardness. I wanted to reassure him that it was me that was the issue—that he was no more responsible for my discomfort than the Pope was responsible for the prices at Walmart. But I couldn't put my feelings into words.

"He must be quite a guy, keeping you out so late every night."

I blushed a little more, both embarrassed and thankful all at once that my father was making this as easy on me as he could. Even when I think back now on that night—so many years later—I can't help but be thankful out of all the fathers in the world he was mine. I opened my mouth to respond, stopped myself, and then just said it anyway. "He really is, Dad."

I turned to face him, and for the first time that night, I felt my eyes moistening. My father smiled at me. "That's good—as long as he's good to you, that's all that matters."

"He is," I managed. And in that moment, I wanted to tell him everything—knowing I couldn't. Still fearful of our predicament despite the acceptance and love my father was showing me. Instead, I admitted what I could. "It's just a little new and nervous for me."

He nodded. "I'm sure it is," he stopped himself, as if wanting to put his thoughts in order. "I can't really relate to this because I've never had feelings like that for another guy, Dom. But that doesn't make them any less natural or okay. You're young, and this is the time to explore if you're going to." He paused again, thinking, and added. "And you're my son, no matter what. Even if you are gay, I'll still love you just the same."

My throat choked, the emotions inside me hot. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't think of anything that I could say. Instead, when I opened my mouth to talk, tears starting coming down my face.

"Hey, now," he stood from his recliner and came to my side. My father sat next to me and put his arm around me, drawing him close to him in the same way he used to when I was a child and would fall off my bike. And despite every ounce of masculinity I had, I clutched onto him and cried more. Feeling instantly better every second that he just shushed me and whispered that it was alright. That I was still a man and still his son. And that he still loved me just the way I am.

"It's just so..."

"I can imagine, buddy," he soothed. "I'm sure it's very confusing. But you'll figure it out." The longer it seemed his words weren't helping, the more my father spoke. And the more my tears came. But I wanted to tell him his words were helping—that I was crying because I felt safe to cry. Finally, he said, "And who knows, maybe you just haven't met the right girl yet."

I shook my head against him, and he stopped talking to look at me. I broke away from him, and looked at him, for the first time in my life wanting my father to know me and fully understand what I had been afraid to admit since prom night. "I'm gay, Dad," I whispered.

"You're sure?"

I nodded.

He drew me in again and held me and kissed the top of my head—something I couldn't recall him doing since I broke my finger playing basketball in elementary school. "And I love you no matter what," he told me. "I just want you to be happy, Dom."

I nodded again, the tears finally stopping. I hugged him, grateful again that out of any father in the world, he was mine.

"I only have one small request," he said, his words gentle as he spoke. I broke away from him, looking into his soft brown eyes, feeling a little tense as I waited for the next shoe to drop. "When you're ready—when you feel like you can do it—please share this with your mother. And with your brother. Okay?"

I nodded, unable to say anything. Wanting to say everything. Knowing I couldn't put my thanks and what I was feeling into words. So I just hugged him again, telling him how much I loved him the only way I could.

***

After Dom left that evening, James Monaco felt the emptiness of his apartment. It was a feeling that he had become accustomed to feeling every time Dom left for the night lately, so it was no stranger to him. But that didn't make feeling it any less of an experience for him when it set in. He sat with Toby in his lap—who even seemed to be looking around, searching for Dominic—on his living room sofa watching some late night infomercial about copper cookware. Hearing the television but not truly seeing it—his eyes focused on the memory of the eighteen-year-old he had embraced in the dark only a short time ago.

The look on Dominic's face kept no secrets from him as they enjoyed their—what? Tryst? Love making? He didn't even know how to describe it, as he had never had experienced something quite as intense as he had with Dom. Not even his encounters with Caroline had come close to them. Sure, there was pleasure in them...he guessed. But their roles seemed written in a script they were acting out, lacking that fiery spontaneity which came so easily with Dominic. James knew he had been afraid of that feeling and its intensity for so long; now, he only wondered how he had managed to live without it.

Yes, his mind finally concluded, he supposed he found some attraction in the raw masculinity of men. It was quite a mindfuck, he thought, because he had never in his life dreamed of doing any of the things with other men that had been doing with Dom. Thinking back on his coming-of-age years in high school and early college, he imagined that he had had some chances to experiment, in retrospect. When he was a teenager and still a virgin, there was a friend of his who had offered to show him one of his father's Playboy magazines. And in college, a classmate of his had made a running joke of playing gay chicken when he drank a little too much at a party.

But James was Catholic. And while his family had raised him that there wasn't anything truly wrong with same-sex relationships—unlike some of the more intense religious households his friends grew up in—they had never spoken about them. And so James had grown up thinking not only that he was a man but that part of being a man meant pursuing a relationship with a good woman he could call a partner.

Now, all of what he knew—what he felt he knew—had been upended by a young man about to graduate high school. It wasn't fair, in more than one manner.

Toby, as if sensing the heavy thoughts on his mind, placed his front paws on James's partially unbuttoned shirt, stretched, and yawned. Then he rose and nudged his face against his owner's, nuzzling just under James's chin.

James smiled. What a life it would be to be a housecat, he mused. Toby would have none of these human problems. He would have no reason to feel guilty for potentially hurting a good woman whom had done nothing wrong other than accepting a marriage proposal from the wrong man, someone who didn't fully understand himself enough to understand why he was so attracted to Dominic. Why—although he'd never tell anyone—he found some of the male nudity in Fifty Shades of Grey oddly interesting when he and Dom went to see it together.

Toby, feeling James's mind still elsewhere, changed tactics and settled back on his lap. This time, he splayed himself on his side, doing his best adorable kitty routine when he looked up at his owner. No, James thought to himself, Toby wouldn't have to feel guilty for any of that. Nor would he have to feel guilty for drawing a young man with his whole life ahead of him into a mess of confusion about his sexual orientation and a marriage looming on the horizon that he didn't truly want.

He petted Toby, and still hungry for more attention, the cat playfully batted at his palm when he drew his hand away.

And, perhaps, Toby wouldn't have to feel this longing when that young man left for the night. Before he could stop himself, the thought entered his mind. And while it made him uncomfortable, James Monaco couldn't deny it anymore. Knowing not only that there was truth to the thought but that it had deeper implications than ever.

They had crossed a line a while ago together. And while it was not expected at all—or maybe not ideal in how it had happened—he had developed real feelings for Dominic Anderson. Feelings which ran deep enough that sometimes made James Monaco wonder what it might be like to not have to hide their time together. And sometimes—just sometimes—made him imagine what it might be like to wake up next to Dominic every morning.

***

Their nights together burned as fast as birthday candles—seemingly slow whenever they were together but quick enough that they were over when it felt like they had only begun—to the point that James wondered if there ever could be a night when Dom would not have to leave. He felt childish and maybe even a little greedy whenever the thought came to him, but he couldn't help it. Nothing brought a bigger smile to his face than spending time with—

(his boyfriend?)

—Dominic. It seemed that they fit together in such a way that their individual personalities encouraged each other to flourish. Bringing out both solace and new experiences together.

James discovered the tranquility that came with fishing and star gazing on nights when Dominic wanted to enjoy the peaceful summer dark. He learned what bait was best used to catch different varieties of fish and how to set the line just right. Dominic discovered a love for the music of Stevie Nicks thanks to CD album copies James burned for him. And he learned enough in the kitchen from their dinners together that he could almost put together a full holiday meal for fifteen people—if he had a reason to.

But while their romance—which they had not verbally acknowledged but both thought of it as such—continued to blossom into what was beginning to look like a healthy relationship, James still couldn't help but carry the weight of his guilt. Like heavy shackles around his ankles, the guilt and discomfort held him back, often forcing him to mull over just how terrible of a person he was.

It wasn't that he didn't have opportunities to correct his wrongs. He had had dinner with Caroline three times in the past two weeks, each time with the intention of politely breaking off the engagement so she would be free of him. He wanted her to be happy.

But every time he came close—once even begging the question, "May I say something?"—James didn't feel like he had the balls enough to follow through. Drawing back from the brink of forever altering his life and using the comfort of what he knew to avoid facing the truth. Because when he thought about it—actually admitted the extremely uncomfortable truth that he might be gay—he felt different. He felt scared. He didn't understand that feeling, as emotions and the human psyche—unlike historical facts and records—seldom made sense. And that fear was that, if he were gay, he would forever be different than the James Monaco he'd always been. James couldn't have that. He had never felt as much of a need to belong in societal cliques before—except in the eyes of his family. This fear changed that.

If it meant being different, he didn't want to be gay.

But he did want Dominic.

The duel of desires was a personal hell that kept his engagement with Caroline intact only by a mere thread and the future of his situation with Dominic a constant question mark. To the point that he felt trapped—powerless to either follow the desires of his heart or the desires of his mind. And that, James understood, was itself a decision of the worst kind. One that—if allowed to solidify—would surely destroy everything that he held dear.