J. S. Kuiken

So day two of #writelifemay is “WIP”, aka, work in progress.

I wasn’t sure what to post and so settled on posting an excerpt from my work in progress.

The official blurb for my current work in progress is:

“Men ought to love men, and do.” Ben, a straight man, falls in love with his best friend, a gay man. Ben must navigate the precarious waters of friendship and love while exploring his sexuality.

In this excerpt, Ben has just kissed his friend, David, for the first time. Ben is, as per usual for him, having a “freak out”. Seeking guidance, he calls his sister Jess. This scene, which takes place at a small bistro, is between Ben and Jess. There might be typos and the like, since this is an unrevised draft.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, uhm. It was nothing. Really.”

I’m so glad I can scream inside and no-one will know.

“Come on Ben.”

“No, it’s actually nothing, like I said.”

“Oh really? Because you sounded hysterical on the phone.”

“I’m not — I wasn’t hysterical.”

I can’t help the scowl.

Oh goddammit. I always tell her. I always tell her first, even before David. I told her when I lost my virginity, when I fell in love the first time, when I knew my marriage was over. Jess always knew first. Jess always knew.

“Uhm, Jess.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve done a stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad, dear.”

“I kissed someone I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Who? Ooooh was it a student?”

Oh my god, I wish she would lay off on the assumption that someday I will just succumb to some kind of base fantasy about having sex with a student.

“No, it wasn’t a student.”

“Was it someone who was married? Or –”

“It was David.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her face blank. Void of expression. Creepy or calming?

“David.”

The name comes out of her slow.

“David — my other brother, who Mom adores, your friend — that David?”

“Yes. That David.”

Pause.

Why — why is she laughing? Head thrown back, hair shaking, snorting. And now she’s going to stop, thank — fuck. No. She’s going to keep giggling. She — what the fuck — she’s crying?

Finally. She’s calm enough to wipe tears from her eyes with her napkin.

“Are you done yet?”

“Oh my god, that was a great joke Ben. A really weird joke, but still great.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Pause.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

Silence.

“Shit. I really need more wine for this.”

“So do I.”

Might as well buy the bottle.

“You have to tell me everything.”

“There’s not much to tell? We were sitting around talking, like we do, and I just got up for more whiskey and kissed him.”

“Woah.”

Pause.

“But you’re straight. Unless . . .”

She’s actually hurt, as if I would keep something like that from her.

“No, I’m straight.”

“Then why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to?”

“Did you like it?”

“No. I mean, yes. I don’t know.”

“Did he kiss you back?”

“. . . yes. He did.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“I don’t know. I think so?”

“Okay. Will you kiss him again then?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been avoiding each other since it happened.”

“When did it happen?”

“ . . . two nights ago.”

“You freakin’ dingus.”