Excerpt: Up to No Good

My current main project is a novella tentatively titled “Bloom”. It’s about a man who believes he is straight, Ben, falling in love with his gay best friend, David. This is an excerpt. It occurs in the last third of the story, when Ben has begun really wrestle with the question of his sexuality. Is he straight? Is he bisexual? Hell if Ben knows.

There’s sexual content in this, and there might be typos and errors.


Nothing.

The tick-tock of the kitchen clock, a low wind murmuring through the cracked window. But nothing else; the house safely suffused in silence.

This is ridiculous. I’m scuttling around like I’m thirteen again, sneaking off with my sisters’ Victoria’s Secret catalogues to masturbate to. Thirteen year old desperate measures and all.

David won’t be home for awhile.

The bed isn’t the best place, really. The couch is better. But this feels too . . . intimate for sitting out in the living room. So. Laptop at hand, afternoon sunlight falling pale across the bedroom.

I hope I don’t get a million viruses.

Where to even start? Presumably there’s keywords of some kind, but I don’t know. Uhm.

gay porn

That has to turn up . . . things.

GAY PORN VIDEOS FREE MEN TWINK SEX MOVIES

Take a breath, text.

GayMaleVid has all the hottest gay porn available on the web. We cater to your homosexual needs . . .  

Featured video: Gay friends make love and cum a lot

Okay, so let’s just click on a link at random.

I guess I’ll have this “straight guy” category for 500, Alex. Whatever that is.

Uhhm.

Straight buddies passionately fuck

Uhhhhhmmm.

I . . . I honestly don’t remember the last time I started kissing a straight friend. Kissing and undressing him. Or groping him while writhing all over him on a bed. Yes. This is very heterosexual. This enthusiastic cock sucking is also profoundly straight. Now with the anal. Good grief. He sounds like a dying walrus. And that other guy is jack hammering him with an unwarranted desperation.

I always like it when David fucks me within a very inch of my life. Pulls on my hair. Growls in my ear what a dirty, filthy boy I am.

Oh look, they switch!

Enough. Let’s try the “friend” category. I am sure there were be much more heterosexuality there.

Straight college friends try gay sex

What an amazing number of ads for heterosexual hookup sites. Jeez. As if I weren’t confused enough.

Ah. Yes. I had my straight college friends give me handjobs. What could be better? Just bros helping each other out. Nothing gay here. And now they are double teaming . . . an inflatable sex doll. Holy fuck. This is terrible. At least now they have moved to blowing each other. But Jesus —

“Ben?”

?

“What?”

David’s home. Oh shit, David’s home.

The bedroom door opens — because who locks it these days??? — and he’s smiling at me, holding a spray of tulips. The computer lets out a loud moan.

We look at each other and I’ve no doubt I have the desperate countenance of a cornered man.

“I’ll come back,” he says, backing up.

But there’s a missed opportunity if I just let him walk off, flowers and all.

“David!”

His voice, moving further down the stairs: “It’s fine, I’ll let you have some privacy.”

I have to laugh at this.

At the bottom of the stairs he turns and looks up at me, frowning.

“What?”

“You’ve seen me come — been inside me while I came — and you’re worried about giving me privacy while I watch porn?”

“Everyone deserves some privacy.”

He rummages for a glass, presumably to put the flowers in. In the gray light of the kitchen the tulips’ mustard and red colors burn.

He meant them for me.

Sometimes he brings me roses just so he can run the flowers, Persian red or moon white, over my body. I hate it when he says I’m beautiful, probably because it feels so good. It feels good to be adored, the beloved, the object of admiration. But a man should be the one adoring rather than being adored; should be lover and not beloved; should be the admirer rather than the object.

And so I hate it, love it, when he says I’m beautiful and he traces the curve of my hips with roses.

The tulips look good in a mason jar. Quaint. Home-y. And he looks handsome, the light turning his eyes pale and making his lips faintly glow.

“Come upstairs with me.”

It’s nice to slide my arm around him.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You’re up to no good.”

“Well, yes, but I’d like to do it with you.”

“What kinds of no good are you up to?”

“Let’s find out.”

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