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.
