You & Me

Emmet and I spent the rest of Sunday together. He was effusive, going on and on about Austin and the University of Texas and how the football coach fawned over Bowen. When I tried to ask him how he liked the university, the campus, or the city, he reverted to shrugs as he fiddled with a little orange-and-white Longhorn football he’d bought from the bookstore.

Still, I saw a future where Landon and I drove down to Austin every other weekend for both Bowen and Emmet’s home games, and where burnt orange became a dominant color in our closet. Longhorn magnets covered the front of our refrigerator, bumper stickers stuck to our cars, and bobbleheads and pennants filled our house. Our house, living together. A buzz ran through me, bubbles filling my veins like champagne.

We ordered pizza and watched a movie. I offered to turn on the NFL game, but Emmet said he wanted to watch something together. I didn’t know which I’d rather endure: another incoherent car chase movie or a football game without Landon beside me. I was surprised, though, by Emmet’s choice: a comedy, something heartwarming, vaguely bromantic, with a definite father-son subplot. I recognized my own fumblings in the dad character, the awkward overtures and the stumbling in the dark, unsure what to do or what to say to a son who seemed to have no need for his old man in his life any longer.

As the movie climaxed, I watched Emmet instead of the screen, listening as the on-screen dad gave his heartfelt speech to his brokenhearted son. I love you, and I believe in you, and there’s nothing you can’t do in this world. I’ve known that since you were six weeks old and you blew out my eardrums, and when you tore the curtain from the rod when you were four months old. No baby should have that strength, but you did. Emmet snorted, laughing into the neck of his hoodie.

I carved the sound, the shape of his smile, into my brain.

Routine arrived, for which I was grateful. I clung to the steady reliability of Landon, of our Tuesdays and Thursdays and Fridays together.

Mondays and Wednesdays, Emmet and I drew closer. Most nights I cooked while he did his homework at the kitchen table. Our conversations deepened, not to the point where either of us was opening up our hopes and dreams, but to where we could go more than thirty seconds without stumbling into a scowl or a pitfall in the conversation. After dinner, he washed the dishes and I dried them, and occasionally, we lingered in the kitchen, seemingly both of us wanting more time as father and son.

For two weeks in a row, the Friday night games were away. With away games, everything we did at home, we had to do on the road, only we had to haul all of the equipment to the other teams’ stadiums first. Landon and I packed water jugs and coolers full of ice, tables, the electrical cord, and that horrible inflatable rodeo rider into my truck bed. We dragged everything onto the away fields, strung the electrical cord, filled the water jugs, and then retreated to the visitors’ end zone to watch the games.

Bowen and Emmet led the team to two easy victories, and after each game, we dragged all the water jugs, coolers, tables, the electrical cord, and the inflatable back to Last Waters. By the time we returned to the school and had put everything away, Landon and I were usually the only volunteers left in the parking lot. We took advantage of the dark, making out against the side of my truck before we headed home.

October stayed warm, and Emmet and I joined Landon and Bowen for a Saturday in their pool. Landon strung a volleyball net over the water, and we split into teams to face off. Father and son versus father and son, and then boys versus fathers, and then Bowen and I versus Emmet and Landon. This was a sport, and I was pathetically hopeless until Bowen took me aside and gave me a few tips. I managed to score against Landon, and then Emmet and I won a match that Bowen might have thrown. Either way, Emmet slapped his hands in the water as he roared, and then he wrapped me in a bear hug. That was the far bigger victory in my book.

Then Emmet launched me halfway across the pool. I twisted midair and landed belly-down with a splat. I was halfway through yelling, “Shit,” as I hit the surface. When I sputtered up from underwater, all three were laughing so hard they were crying.

The boys disappeared to play video games while Landon and I made dinner. Well, he made dinner, and I distracted him, stealing kisses and pushing him against the counters to make out with him. Again, we ate dinner like a family, like the four of us were already one.

Leaving that night was excruciating.

Not being with Landon every night was equally excruciating. I craved him, everything about him. His touch, his laugh, his smile. I missed his breath in my hair and his lips on the back of my neck. I held the pillow he’d slept on like I was holding him, but it was a poor substitute for the real Landon. And even though we texted until our eyelids were drooping, and the absolute last thing I saw before closing my eyes every night was a picture he texted of him blowing me a kiss, I still woke up with an ache inside me, like some vital part of me was missing.

It was. He was.

My thoughts were turning carnal, too. I imagined us together all the time. What would it be like when we made love? I dreamed of us together in every possible way. Me riding Landon, or Landon slowly driving into me, or me on my hands and knees with Landon behind me, his hands on my hips as he kissed my spine. I woke in the middle of the night, humping my mattress and whispering his name. I had to stroke myself off, bite my lip and swallow my moan when I came. I started keeping Kleenex and wet wipes by my bed like I was sixteen.

I wanted to explore myself before Landon and I took that final step. I wanted to know myself and what I wanted. I wanted to be confident about everything I was yearning for. Sexy to Landon, too, when the moment came. Ready for him.

Google and Reddit gave me answers to questions I didn’t know I needed to ask. I soaked up information, devouring how-to guides and gay porn like I was studying for an exam. I bought a dildo and worked from home all afternoon on a Monday to make sure I got the package first and that Emmet wouldn’t mistakenly think it was his protein or fiber refills and bust open the box in the kitchen and then keel over.

I didn’t know how to play with myself in the house with Emmet living on the other side of my bedroom wall. I wasn’t the quietest when I got lost in pleasure. If I moaned too loud, would Emmet come knocking? If I didn’t answer right away, would he walk in to check on me? Again, I’d kill my son. His brain would explode on the spot if he found his father facedown, knees spread, ass up, working a dildo into his virgin ass.

I thought about—and discarded—trying in the shower. I’d fingered myself there, but the lube I needed washed away too quickly, and by the time I got everything going, the hot water had run out and I was trying to chase a fading orgasm as I cringed away from the cold.

One evening, I sneaked into Emmet’s room and turned up his speakers. Maybe if his music was a little louder, I could get away with an errant moan. I waited for his hip hop to turn on after we finished dinner, and, satisfyingly, the beats were louder when they tumbled from his bedroom. I smiled.

Emmet immediately turned down his music and called out, “Sorry, Dad.” Damn it.

I called in late one morning and decided to just go for it. Emmet was at school, and the house was empty, and I was clawing my own skin off, I was so desperate for release. Landon and I hadn’t been together since a quick make-out after the away game, and the Tuesday before that, when we’d made it to his couch and no further before we were naked and writhing against each other. I learned how to blow him all the way to orgasm that night. He reciprocated by eating my ass for over half an hour, until I was screaming into his throw pillow and slapping the cushions, grinding back onto his tongue and his lips and his mouth, greedy for more. I begged him to finger me.

He circled my hole all the way around on the inside with his tongue before he fingered me. I saw stars. Screamed his name. And came all over his leather couch.

Now it was time for more. I was ready. Me, my dildo, a bottle of lube, and my fantasies of Landon.

I imagined him above me: naked, hard, his eyes dark, chest heaving. Looking down at me like he craved me.

My legs were spread, knees on either side of my imagined Landon. I could feel his hands ghosting down my legs and cupping the back of my thighs. My fantasy played on, my dream Landon doing everything to me until I was a quivering, shaking, panting mess. Lube was everywhere, soaking my ass and my thighs and both of my hands and the dildo I held at my hole. I closed my eyes and imagined Landon as I pushed it inside.

My eyes rolled back, and my lungs seized, and I absolutely moaned way too loud. My heels kicked out. I came off the bed. Tried to reach for Landon, who wasn’t even there, and then grasped my cock and stroked, screaming Landon’s name at the top of my lungs.

I showered and did a load of laundry in silence. I watched my bedsheets tumble around and around in the dryer as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. I didn’t know if that had helped or not.

I was not going to be cool or calm when Landon and I made love. I was going to be wanton and desperate. I could already feel the hunger blazing inside me.

Everything about me had changed, and I was a fool if I thought my boss, who’d checked in on every dip and stumble in my mood for the past year, wouldn’t notice.

Lakshmaan had been stopping by my office much more frequently over the past few weeks, checking in on my book of business, praising me for how I’d saved the Brookings account, and bringing me new leads and referrals. Before I knew it, our monthly lunch date came up on the calendar again, and he dropped by my office to pick me up as I was texting Landon for the hundredth time that day.

Lakshmaan waited until we were settled at lunch before he sprang the question. “So,” he said, “who is she?”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Whoever it is that you’re seeing!” He beamed and folded his hands in front of his plate. “You’re in love! I can tell.”

I scoffed, laughed. Tried to still the shot of panic racing through me. I grabbed my water and downed a gulp as Lakshmaan kept smiling.

“I have never seen you this happy, Luke. Whoever she is, she must be amazing.”

“Um, yeah.” I set the water down and spun it. Grasped my napkin beneath the table in one hand and tried to poke my thumb through the linen. “Yeah, it’s pretty wonderful.” Understatement.

“Tell me, how did you meet her?” Lakshmaan leaned forward. He was truly, genuinely happy for me. I could see it in his eyes.

And it broke my fucking heart.

“Through Emmet’s school,” I forced out. “We both volunteer. Our kids both play football.”

He nodded, silently urging me to go on.

“We have a lot in common,” I added. “We both like wine.” He introduced me to wine. “We’re both outdoorsy.”

“What grade is her son? What position does he play?”

I almost choked. Number 16, Bowen Larsen of Last Waters, subject of a Star-Telegram profile on the rise of Last Waters’ superstardom and their potential to claim the state championship, would be instantly recognized. “A senior. And he’s on the offense.”

“Any other kids?”

I shook my head.

“There’s still time for you both, then, if you want to add to your family.”

I wanted to crawl under the table and flee. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. I wanted this conversation to end. It was like I was outside myself, watching someone who looked like me carry on a conversation with my boss as I withered away.

Landon said it would be like this. Changing your world, shifting your reality, is huge. It’s easy to throw words around when it’s just the two of us, but it’s completely different when you’re facing the world. Your friends. Your family. Your coworkers. Your boss.

I thought I was ready for this. I’d fantasized and daydreamed about me and Landon being out, about us holding hands at the farmer’s market or in Old Town, or kissing hello instead of having to wish it with our eyes. I wanted everything with Landon. A life together, a home together, our families together.

But here I was, choking on words, not correcting my boss, not taking the opportunity to reveal the truth. My truth. I was falling in love with a man.

What did it mean that I couldn’t say it?

Lakshmaan moved on as the server brought our lunch order. He started peppering me with questions about my accounts, and I answered on autopilot, taking bites of my steak salad as I regurgitated rates and renewals. He never asked about my love life again.

For the rest of the afternoon, a creeping emptiness filled me, until I felt like I was falling inside myself. I felt hollow, the way I used to feel after failing yet another exam in high school or college. This had been a test, a big one, a life-altering kind of test, and I—

I’d failed.