Ch. 02 Unexpected Weekend

Saturday evening

I ate my dinner on the bed, watching tv. I was feeling embarrassed about oversharing, and feeling lonely in the master bedroom, imaging that if Sarah was here none of this would have happened. I was beating myself up for letting myself be charmed by John and revealing too much. Damn it.

Sarah takes long baths when she's feeling sad or upset. Maybe I should, too? Maybe it would help? I decided to get high and see what it was like. I mean, I didn't have anything else to do.

I filled the huge jacuzzi tub with hot, steamy water. There was a lot of girly stuff around the edge, things left by Sarah, her mom, and her sister: bath salts, candles, bath oils, bubble bath.

I decided to treat myself - why not? I dimmed the lights, lit the candles, and added all the things to the bath, filling the steam with delicate fragrances. I stepped in and sunk into the hot, soapy water.

I lit a joint and took a few sips and immediately started to relax, my mind emptying in a pleasant fog and sinking into the soft, sweet warmth. My limbs felt heavy and my thoughts started to drift, thinking about how women pamper themselves with all of this stuff. Why don't men? This is nice.

I lifted my right leg out of the water, extending at the knee, watching it emerge from the soapy bubbles. I stretched and pointed my toes to the ceiling like a ballerina. I looked at my leg. Sarah is right, I thought: I do have pretty legs. Shapely. Nice calf, slim ankle, small feet. Cute toes.

It was my curse. I've always been a small guy, always small for my age growing up. I was teased about never hitting puberty. I still don't have chest hair. I can't grow a beard and rarely shave. Instead of the thick course hair I see on the guys in the locker room, I have soft downy blond hair over most of my body. Slim with wide hips, a flat tummy, a little extra weight in my thighs and a round butt. I gave up on lifting weights a long time ago because I never made any gains. I started doing yoga instead and eventually became an instructor, which made my body lean and fit.

I was feeling pretty high and the hot water and delicate perfume of the bath was making me relaxed and aroused. I was getting turned on by my own body, by my shapely, feminine legs; turned on remembering the sound of Sarah's orgasm on the phone.

I still don't understand it, even now. It was a wild thought, a spur of the moment impulse. I took the women's razor from the side of the tub and shaved my legs up over my knee. There was a small, quiet voice of concern in the back of my head as I dragged the razor up my calf: How am I going to explain this to Sarah? She's going to notice, of course.

But I pushed it aside. I didn't want to think about it, because this was fun - my legs were so smooth and silky. I lifted my leg and pointed my toes again, watching the sudsy water sheet off of my smooth skin, glistening in the candlelight, delighting in the heightened sensitivity.

This was sexy. I wanted more. The smoke had dulled my impulse control and I immediately shaved my legs all the way up my thighs to my hips. I was lost in the sensations, lost in the experience. I kept going, shaving myself all over, all the way, everywhere, my scrotum, underneath, shaving between my legs, between my cheeks. Smooth all over.

I was seriously sexually charged now, slipping around in the tub, feeling truly naked for the first time in my life.

I started thinking about all the things girls do, how girls get ready for a date - shaving, make up, hair, clothes just right, stockings, lingerie, perfume, high heels - all of it to capture the attention of men.

What would that be like? I wondered. To get sexy for a man. To prepare myself for a date, with a man. To do all the things that a girl does to get a man's attention, to arouse a man's desire?

If I was a girl, I mean.

But what if I was making myself sexy for a man? (what if I was making myself sexy for John? said a quiet voice in the back of my head).

I touched myself all over, running my hands over my smooth skin. But not my penis: I promised Sarah I wouldn't cum while she was gone and would wait for her - no masturbation so I would be excited when she got here. But I gently touched myself between my legs, under my scrotum. I brushed my puffy nipples and felt a thrill that caused a tingle between my legs. Fingertips over the sensitive skin covering my prostate, touching the delicate place between my cheeks.

I moaned out loud. I had been saving myself for more than a week - just one day longer, I thought.

The bath was starting to cool down and I got out, getting into the glass walled shower and stepping under the hot water. Standing up, I could finish shaving, getting any place I missed, and rinsing the lather off my body. I washed my hair with Sarah's flowery shampoo and conditioner.

I was feeling different, feeling better. I had been hurt, rejected, disappointed, resentful. But getting all soft and girly was making me feel better. The icky feelings of this afternoon felt smaller, quieter, further away.

It was like when I was in high school. Sometimes I'd pretend I was a girl, dressing in my sister's clothes. It was a kind of escape from reality that comforted me after being bullied or rejected by my classmates. It was a way of dissociating from my feelings, kind of like slipping out of myself and into a different reality, a fantasy.

Whatever it was, it was working. I got out of the shower and dried myself off, reveling in the sensitivity of my skin, getting a little thrill all through my body. I searched in the bathroom cabinet and found some body lotion, smoothing it all over. I put my leg up on the chair, poised on tippy toe, and slid my hands up my legs, leaving a wake of light electricity on my skin.

I was floating in a feminine cloud. I felt cute. And sexy. I wrapped a towel around my head and put on a thick, white terry cloth robe, draping the soft fabric in such a way that it was open along the side of my torso, open over my hip and down my leg. I turned my knee in and arched my foot like an Instagram model. It looked really sexy. I looked really feminine. Curvy.

My skin was glowing from the hot water and it was so soft from the bath oils and the fragrant body lotion. I gazed into the full-length mirror, looking into my eyes and looking carefully at my delicate facial features. It was like I looked different when I felt this way.

Starting with our phone sex this afternoon, I had been in a simmering arousal, increased by the bath and my naked skin and the lotion. I was semi-erect but that wasn't it. The feelings from my penis were drowned out by waves of sensuality. My arousal was all over, all throughout my body. All of my erogenous zones were buzzing.

I found some makeup and briefly considered putting it on, but my high was starting to fade. I realized it would be diminishing returns: the thrill of makeup would be ruined by the clumsy results. But I did put on some silky shimmer lip gloss and picked out a delicate shade of light pink sparkly nail polish.

It was pretty late. I had lost track of time. I tied the robe around me and walked into

the bedroom. I brought the lotion with me, thinking I might break my promise to Sarah. I turned on a late-night talk show and opened the window, leaning out to smoke the other half of the joint, the cool sea air pouring over me, pouring into the room.

I put a towel down on the comforter and sat on the bed with one knee pulled up, the other laying sideways under my raised leg. I carefully painted my toenails, watching the sparkles in the flickering blue light of the television. Every once in a while, when I leaned over to paint my nails, my robe would slip open and my little shaved penis would catch my eye. It looked so cute and girly. I felt so cute and girly.

I laid back on the pillows to let the polish dry and picked up my phone. There was a missed call from Sarah and a message notification. Seeing the messages pulled all of the rejection and hurt back to me. I ignored the voicemail in a passive-aggressive way, like a pouting child. I was still mad at her, which was ridiculous because it's not her fault. None of this was her fault.

I opened the message. It was a good night text with hearts and a kissy emoji. I looked at it and then nervously scrolled up the thread to look at the pictures of John again.

No. I'm not attracted to men, I told myself.

But what if I was?

What would it feel like to be attracted to a man? Would I be attracted to John? My nipples crinkled and got hard. Wow. That's new, I thought.

When my nails were dry, I put on cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt and slipped into the clean sheets and turned out the light. I laid there for a minute and then pulled my shirt up over my tummy to my shoulders and played with my nipples, squeezing, pinching, caressing, bringing myself to the edge, feeling the familiar tingle down inside of me, but stopping before it became too much.

I pulled my shirt down, feeling a pleasant kind of sexual frustration, then pulled up the covers and drifted off to sleep feeling smooth, sensual, aroused and sexy, fragrant with the perfumed lotion and body soaps.

Sunday morning

I woke up foggy but sober in the midmorning light: another grey overcast day. I slid around inside the sheets. The feeling was luxurious.

Oh my god. Reality rushed in: What have I done? What will Sarah think?

Overwhelming regret. I pulled my phone off the nightstand and read a good morning text from Sarah, from earlier, east coast time, sent while I was still sleeping. It said she was leaving the hotel on the way to the airport.

A jet of anxiety surged up. How was I going to explain this? I was embarrassed. I decided I would just tell the truth: I was bored and horny without you, I got high and took a bath. It felt good, and I got carried away. I know, silly, right?

The condo was quiet. John must be asleep or maybe he went out, I thought. I went into the kitchen and made coffee and some breakfast.

I was sitting at the dining room table, legs crossed at the knee and looking at my phone when John came out of his bedroom. He was wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Same thick outline. I remembered the Instagram photos again, remembering what he looks like shirtless, remembering my own cute little penis when I was painting my toenails.

I was feeling extra weird and vulnerable after last night, and the quiet, urgently ignored thoughts about John.

What if I was...?

I was nervous. And excited. I was keenly aware of my smooth body and soft skin, the cool air, the way the soft cotton slid around my legs. I felt exposed. In front of someone else. In front of a man.

Is this what a crush feels like? I felt faint echoes of 'making myself sexy for a man' (making myself sexy for him).

John poured himself a bowl of cereal and came over to sit at the head of the table with me on his left side. I saw his eyes glance down and I suddenly remembered my painted toes! A wave of fear came over me. He didn't say anything, but I saw him smile slightly when he looked down.

My chest got tight and I nervously curled my toes back and tucked my feet under the chair, trying to hide but it was too late! How could I have forgotten! John saw, I know he saw, and he knew that I knew he saw.

We made small talk. He was clearly trying to put me at ease. I was thankful for his not calling me out, for being kind about it. I started to relax and felt a slow upwelling of gratitude, a warmth in my chest, relieved that John didn't tease me or make a thing out of it.

I pulled up one leg and tucked my foot under my thigh. The motion of my body stirred the fragrance under my clothes and I suddenly remembered that I smelled like perfumed lotion, like a flowery lingerie shop.

I felt a rising panic and started to give short answers, desperate to get away. I quickly cleared my dishes to the kitchen. My cute painted toes were in plain sight as I walked barefoot back to the bedroom. I was somehow aware that John was watching me walk away. Sarah says guys sometimes check me out from behind. I felt (imagined?) him looking at my butt.

I tried to walk casually but was barely able to stop myself from running. I was almost to the door of the bedroom when John called out. He said he was going sightseeing this afternoon - would I like to come along? It's his first time here, he said. You've been here before. Could you show me around?

Everything inside of me screamed NO! but I heard myself say um yeah, OK. Sure.

Great, he said, let's go this afternoon.

Back in the bedroom. Self-admonishment: how could I have forgotten my pink, sparkly toes? I turned on the tv just when Sarah called.

She's back at the airport, she said, but there was more bad weather. Her flight is delayed. Again. She won't be able to get there before late that evening. More disappointment. This time, there wasn't any of the playful teasing like before. She was tired of traveling, grumpy. The sexual energy was dead. We ended the call with a certain reserve: sure, whatever, I said. I understand. Safe travels. See you soon.

I was feeling rejected again. Lonely.