I watched as my wife set a magnificent golden-brown turkey on the counter, the centerpiece to this year's Thanksgiving feast. Janet poked the bird with a thermometer, nodding with approval before moving onto the next item on the checklist.
"We need more solo cups. Damn it! All we have is Coke and Sprite! You know damn well cousin Rita only drinks diet! What kind of hosts are we if we have no fucking VARIETY, huh? BILLY!"
Janet tapped a sensible loafer against the gleaming tiles, waiting for a response. "If you think we should get more, I can go–"
She rose to all five feet of her height, practically standing on her toes in a vain attempt to meet my eyes. "It's too late now, the family is on their way! I should've never listened to you! We're going to run out, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Her expression of fury suddenly twisted into a welcoming smile.
"Come on in! Glad you could make it! You can put your coats in the spare bedroom over there. How was the trip? I know the traffic that way is–" Her high false laughter filled the house.
Disinterested, I stared out the enormous bay windows, absently wondering if it would start raining soon.
I have been married for thirty-four loveless years, half of which had also been sexless. Her hair was dyed and cut by the best stylist in the county. Genuine diamonds glittered in her ears. The spacious kitchen she lorded over was furnished lavishly with every modern convenience.
I had tried my best to build a home for us, to give Janet everything she ever wanted. It wasn't enough. It was NEVER enough.
As time passed, my wife and I went from young lovers, to reluctant co-parents, to adversarial roommates. Early into our marriage, I learned I had to find different ways to satisfy my needs.
"Richard, Claire! We missed you last year!"
I tore my eyes away from the dreary autumn scenery. Richard Davis, my wife's younger brother and twice-divorced black sheep of the Davis family.
He didn't always attend the family reunions, but when he did, he mostly kept to himself, nursing his solo cup of cheap beer and laughing nervously when the conversation demanded his involvement.
He was a short, slim man in his mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair and deep blue eyes. His ass wasn't that bad to look at, either.
I wasn't sure what spurred me on that day, but soon as Janet had moved on to the next group, I said, "Richard, we've missed you." I engulfed him in my arms. "I really have, you know," I said softly into his ear. Richard's eyes opened wide with confusion before he broke our embrace.
From the edge of the living room, Claire, Richard's teenage daughter, lowered the novel she was reading and raised an eyebrow.
I know I fucked up. Don't rub it in.
Wanting to do something useful, I went to work carving the turkey Janet had so painstakingly prepared. Wonderfully tender, and moist.
"Come and get it," I announced to the family. "Claire, Richard, I think you should go first."
Janet shot me a venomous look. Janet's mother was always first in line to eat; this rule was unspoken and uncontested, until now.
I shrugged, a devious grin spreading on my face. As soon as the final bumper sticker-covered minivan departed my lawn, this kitchen would turn into an active war zone.
The Davises cautiously approached the table, sensing the tension in the air.
"Here, Claire. Take a drumstick."
Her heavily penciled eyes widened. "How did you know it was my favorite," she murmured. "THANK YOU!" She piled green bean casserole and stuffing onto her paper plate, oblivious to the other relatives' staring.
"And you can have whichever one you like," I said to Richard, giving him a meaningful look. He gave a nervous chuckle, quickly securing his meal before scurrying off.
Janet's mother shuffled by him seemingly offended in this break in routine, and Richard looked abashed as he sat at the main table.
The uncomfortable silence broke, and everyone reverted to the same boring script.
I took my obligatory place by Janet, playing my role as husband-host admirably. I explained to a mildly interested Cousin Steve and his wife Rebecca the architecture of our home before Cousin Rita abruptly changed the subject to her latest fad diet.
"It's called intermittent fasting. You don't eat at all except for a small window of time once a day, then you can have whatever you want!"
She took a sip out of her third refill of Diet Coke. "I'm starting to think it's a scam though; I haven't lost any weight!"
I wanted to die.
"You could try not eating so much junk food, Rita," Richard mumbled.
The rest of the table stared at him.
"It's not junk if it's DIET, Richard! Have you not read the PACKAGING?!?"
I stifled the urge to laugh, an endeavor Claire failed in.
Janet glared death across the table at me, her silent message loud and clear: DO SOMETHING BILLY!
I cleared my throat. "Who wants dessert? We have a wide selection over here. Janet made her famous strawberry shortcake!" I kissed her cheek for added effect. Janet gave a small smile.The wicked witch seemed sated...for the moment.
As the others rose from their seats, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Richard.
"We need to talk," he muttered, gesturing to the front door.
I remembered the scene I made with the turkey. It had been more to spite Janet than anything else, but Richard hadn't known that.
He's going to give me shit, but at least he'll do it in private, I thought.
A misty rain fell as he led me to his beat-up Honda Accord. I adjusted the passenger's seat all the way back, my long legs still bent awkwardly.
I tried to head him off quickly. "Richard, I did not mean anything earlier–"
He held up a hand to stop me. "It's okay. No one ever stands up for me like that." His face turned red. "Are you...interested in me?"
I was stunned.
"I mean...since the divorce and everything I haven't really had–you know– and I get that it's out of nowhere, and I might be misinterpreting, but–"
"No." I gifted him a rare, genuine smile. "You were absolutely right."
Richard blushed harder.
Damn, he was so cute.
"Please. You can call me Dickie. Just between us."
"Okay, Dickie. I like that."
He explained that the divorce had been very hard on him. His ex-wife had devastated him, both financially and emotionally.
"--But she was good in the sack. When she was gone, well, it left a void."
For the first time, he had been free to experiment with his desires, and it had led him to some unexpected places.
"At first, it was just like what the hell, I'll try it. I clicked on some gay porn, not thinking it'd do anything for me. Then, I clicked on another one. And another. Eventually, my alarm clock went off and I realized I forgot to sleep."
"Have you ever thought about actually being with a man?"
He admitted that he had thought about it a lot, but never had the courage or opportunity to act upon the urge.
"I didn't want my daughter to have to see any of this, so I never tried dating other men.
The closest I got was that time I went to a sex shop. I had never been to one before. They had these booths with the holes in the wall–"
"Glory holes."
"Yeah, those. I-I just couldn't do it."
"Can I hug you?"
He obliged, and I felt him trembling under my arms. "How can I do this when I have a daughter who needs me?"
My shirt was wet with tears. "Shh. It's okay," I said, holding him tightly. "There's nothing wrong with pursuing your own happiness."
"A-And my sister! How can I do that to my—You look so happy together!"
I laughed bitterly. "Looks can be deceiving."
I told him about our sham of a marriage. "I know she's your sister, but she's–"
"I know," Dickie said, his eyes distant. "I grew up with her."
I admitted that I had been unfaithful for a long time. I had spent the night with other women, men, and even a few transgender prostitutes.
I also confessed to dreaming about being with him. Not just the sex, but the little things. Holding hands, sharing morning coffee and cigarettes, Going out together as a couple.
"Are you okay with that?"
"Only if you're okay with me thinking the exact same thing."
"I've been selfish, but so has she. Janet CHEATED. I KNOW she did. I was a better husband than she deserved, and I deserve a break from that BITCH!"
I ran a hand across his cheek.
"You're nothing like me. You're a fucking martyr, and it's not fair at all."
I leaned in close. I could feel his hot breath on my face. "Would you be selfish with me...just for a little while?"
His lips collided with mine, aggressive in their longing. My tongue parted his lips, our hands grasping hungrily at each other's bodies.
My brazen hand followed his silky treasure trail down Dickie's stomach, disappearing underneath his blue jeans.
He was hard and slick, his impressive size an expected but welcome surprise.
I rubbed his cock back and forth, up and down, faster and faster, keeping rhythm with his quickening breath.
Finally, he released all over my palm, letting out a wonderful moan of pleasure. He opened his eyes, guilt lining his face.
"I-I have to go," he blurted out, his face reddening. Dickie stumbled out of the Accord.
"No, wait! It's okay–"
Unable or unwilling to hear me, he fled into the house.
Great, now he regrets it, I thought miserably. What was I thinking? Now, he'll never come to any of the gatherings, and I'll never see him again, or hear his voice, or...
I lit a cigarette, pulling to my lips. I inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine seep over my thoughts. I blew out a cloud of smoke, breathed in the poison again, and exhaled.
When I felt it was sufficient, I stepped outside the car and puffed outside the vehicle for good measure. The cold misty rain fell on my face.
By the time I finished my Marlboro Red 100, any evidence of our rendezvous was heavily cloaked under a thick blanket of cigarette smoke.
As were all my leftover feelings. Wrap it up in plastic and shove it to the back of the fridge for a rainy day, I thought dementedly.
Eventually, I followed him inside. Catching my reflection in the hallway mirror, I was surprised to see I had already donned the mask of the Happy Husband without realizing it. That man in the mirror, whoever he was, made me want to punch him in his simpering, lying face.
I went about pretending to be the Happy Husband, talking about Happy Husband things. The Braves won the last few games, maybe they'll make it to the World Series this year. My tomato plants grew really well this season. I've got plenty. Want to take some home with you?
I'm going to try a new marinade for the grill steaks. Still working on getting the spices right, but it'll knock your socks off come this summer!
For the second time that day, I wished desperately for my swift demise.
Janet and Rita took up the entire kitchen, discussing dieting tips with a tone of unearned authority.
The young adults were holed up in my son's bedroom, taking turns with the PlayStation. Claire, finally getting her turn, seized the controller, her undivided attention on the screen.
The men were drinking under the carport, the light drizzle having transformed into a steady rain. They were discussing hunting trips they had gone on.
Dickie stood among them, his unconvincing, nervous laughter filling the breaks in conversation.
I so badly wanted to take him by the hand and leave this place. We could go to my favorite spot, have a few beers. Whistle at the pretty girls. Hell, even the pretty boys.
Those heavy masks could be discarded, and for the rest of the night, and, just for once, it would be alright to be weak, to be needy.
To be selfish, to be sinful.
I shook my head, clearing away the fantasy. We both had our roles to play.
The reunion was thinning out. The women were giving drawn-out Southern goodbyes in the driveway, Saran-wrapped plates stacked haphazardly in their arms. So began the countdown until Janet Meltdown.
I sighed, popping the cap off a bottle of Heineken. I took a hardy swig, the glass hitting the table a little too loudly.
Janet looked up from her scouring, mouthing "Drunk" from across the room.
"Bitch," I countered, seeing her face turn an unhealthy shade of red. Hell, maybe I WAS drunk.
Dickie wandered back into the room. "Janet," he said, "I think Rita said something about needing more Saran wrap."
Janet nodded solemnly, as though it was inevitable, and dashed away to our pantry.
Dickie plopped down next to me; my guardian angel robed in plaid and a Chevy baseball cap.
Apart from a few inattentive relatives attempting to corral their rambunctious children, we were alone.
Dickie smiled at me as he swiped a pen off the counter. I watched curiously as he wrote on a napkin. He passed it to me face down.
I want to be selfish.
I flipped the napkin over.
I thought you regretted it.
No. I don't know what to think.
You want more?
He thought for a moment. Finally, he nodded.
Now, I mouthed.
Yes. I don't live far from here. We can be gone for an hour. Nobody will notice.
"We'll need a reason." I swished the remains of my Heineken. "Hmmm."
Janet had no problem believing that I wanted to go to the store for beer. (Ohmygodyoufuckingdrunk)
I cut her off. "We'll discuss it when I get home. Love you." I kissed her on the cheek; it was an empty, ritualistic gesture.
We piled into Dickie's tiny Honda Accord, the rain pelting us as we hurried across the driveway.
Dickie took one look at me before volunteering to drive.
"You couldn't have waited until the family was gone to start drinking?
I chuckled. "Hell no. If I did that, I wouldn't be drunk enough to survive the nuclear meltdown."
"Is she really THAT bad?"
"However bad you think she is, she's at least three times worse."
Dickie nodded. "Remember my last wife? She used to punch holes in the walls."
"Denise? Oh yeah, I remember all right. The bitch was crazy."
"Yeah. I stayed too long. I know it was bad for Claire, but..."
"You were comfortable in your misery."
"Yeah."
I was so sorry to see the hurt on his face.
"Why do you stay, then," Dickie asked.
God, I needed a drink.
"For the kids," I replied.
"Your kids are grown."
"Yes, but...if I got a divorce, they might not love me anymore. If I was who I REALLY wanted to be...Not to mention losing half of my shit."
He nodded. Such a loving, kind expression.
I reached over and traced the outline of his cock through his pants.
"Want a preview before the main event?"
He swerved before gripping the wheel and righting the vehicle back neatly into the lines.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"
"What the fuck isn't? There's nobody on these back roads. Just drive nice and slow..."
My fingers stopped at the end of the head, waiting impatiently.
"What was it you said about wanting to be selfish?"
"Alright. Alright, fuck it. Just do it." He fumbled with his belt.
"Here, let me help you with that."
I undid the buckle and slid my hand down his jeans. I gently stroked its length. This, after all, was an appetizer, not a meal.
I could feel him quivering under my touch. That's when I knew to stop.
"No more until we get to the house," I said. "You'll spoil your appetite." I put my hand over his, carefully turning the steering wheel away from oncoming traffic before he noticed.
"You fucking tease with your magic hands."
"I've got a few other tricks up my sleeve, you'll see."
He pulled into his gravel driveway, up to a somewhat neglected trailer.
"I know it's not a mansion, but–"
I stopped him. "It's perfect."
I unfastened my seatbelt, about to swing a cramped leg onto the thin gravel, before realizing Dickie had not moved.
"What's wrong?"
"I-I just remembered, Claire made a huge mess getting ready this morning. That girl doesn't pick up after herself. She doesn't get it from me–"
I rolled my eyes. "I'll close my eyes until we get to the bedroom, how about that?
"But...uh...we don't have central heating! It's gonna be cold as shit in there."
"But you have a heater?"
"Yeah, but–"
"Do you want to do this or not?"
Dickie said nothing.
I sighed. "Look, we can go in there and I can give you the best Thanksgiving you've ever had in your entire life.
Or, you can drive us down to the gas station down the road, we can pick up the beer, and pretend none of this ever happened. I'll go back toJanet, and you can go back to your cold, messy house.
You have all the power here. Better choose quickly, or we're both going to have to explain why we've been gone so long."
"This...this isn't right." I saw the fear in his eyes.
"And what has doing the right thing gotten you up until now?"
He stared resolutely at the left side mirror.
"And if I don't like it?"
"We can part ways and never see each other again."
He nodded. "Alright. I guess I've already made it this far... you're an asshole!"
"Not the first time I've heard that. Come on."
Dickie opened the front door with shaking hands, admitting me inside. His eyes shot around furtively as he carefully relocked it behind us.
The master bedroom was an immediate right turn from the front door. If the rest of the house was actually deplorable or not, I never had the opportunity to judge.
To his credit, it was cold, our breath visible in the frigid air. Dickie plugged in an ancient space heater, the machine humming to life. He turned around anxiously, as if waiting for directions.
"Do you need the instruction manual," I asked.
"Yes. It has figures, diagrams, and troubleshooting."
I laughed. "In that case, I'll be your manual. Step one: Let's start with getting that shirt off."
He struggled with buttons in his haste.
"Here, let me help you with that."
I opened his shirt.
"By God, you're beautiful." His skinny frame was soft around his stomach, a sparse amount of hair leading down to his groin.
His nipples were fully erect; if it was from the cold or the excitement, I couldn't be sure.
Oh, those would need attention.
"Have you ever had your nipples sucked before?"
He looked at me bewildered. "No, I hey- OH!"
Dickie moaned as my tongue circled his areolas. My lips took his right nipple, suckling them oh so gently.
"FUCK!"
I switched over to the left, taking time, taking care.
"Oh, FUCK! YES! OHHH!"
My mouth followed his treasure trail down.
"Step two: Deploy the pants."
"Oh no, this zipper is so hard to operate."
I grinned at his playfulness. "Luckily for you, I'm a handyman."
I unzipped him, dragging his jeans and boxers down his slender hips. He kicked them carelessly aside.
Finally, I got to see it. It was beautifully thick and straight.
I started to stroke the shaft. While I did, I sucked the head. He fell down onto the mattress, overcome with pleasure.
"ALMOST THERE, ALMOST THERE!!!"
I took his entire length in my mouth, and the floodgates opened. He moaned and writhed in the throes of ecstasy.
I swallowed every last salty drop.
He laid back on his pillow, panting. "That...was...AMAZING."
I sat next to him. "Yep."
Coming to his senses, he glanced anxiously at the clock. "We need to hurry."
"My turn."
"I'm not sure what to–"
I began to undress. "Don't worry, I'll walk you through it. I won't need much more."
I towered over him. He stared at my cock, intimidated by the size.
"Holy shit!"
I took his hand. "Here, get a feel for it." I closed his hand over my penis. I started to pump.
"Now lean over and give my cock a little kiss."
He stared at me fearfully, "I'm not sure I can–"
"Don't give up now. Come on baby, show me what you got."
Dickie kissed the tip, causing me to moan. Unprompted, he licked around the head.
"OHHH! FUCK YES!"
Dickie took me into his warm mouth and started sucking.
"TAKE ME YOU FUCKER!" I started to pump up to meet his down sucking motion.
I knew I was about to release. "Dickie...baby...I'm about to bust my nut... you can... pull off."
He ignored me, and at that point, I was beyond reason.
"SWALLOW IT THEN, YOU WHORE! I WANT YOU TO TASTE IT!"
I pushed my hips up and shot my load in his mouth. He took it all, raised his head, and swallowed.
I caught my breath, still swimming in feel-good chemicals.
"Not bad...for your first time."
He laid next to me. "Thanks. Janet doesn't know what she's missing. You were...the best I've ever had."
"I love you," I held him close, allowing myself to cry. I knew once we left this bedroom, it would be over.
"Billy, we have to go."
"I don't want to." I wanted to stay here where it was warm and safe. I didn't want to go back to HER.
Dickie untangled himself from me.
"Come on, you drunk bastard. We have to go." He started dressing himself.
I just stared into the heater's glowing coils.
Dickie threw my clothes at me. "I need to go pick up my daughter. You can't be here."
"Right." Dejected, I found my boxers, which had somehow made it halfway down a pant leg.
"They're really wet," I remarked.
Dickie fished around in his chest of drawers. "Here." He handed me a clean pair of boxers. "That'll last you until you can change, at least."
I brightened, wearing Dickie's clean pair of underwear. The elastic was stretched to the absolute limit, and my penis was practically suctioned to my leg.
"You should probably get rid of those as soon as possible. You don't want Janet to find it."
Like hell, I thought. I would never admit it to him, but I would be keeping those forever.
Dickie opened every window and sprayed his room liberally with air freshener. The heater was unplugged, and the cold overtook the house once again.
We piled back into Dickie's car. My head had nearly cleared out all the alcohol, and I started putting things in order.
"Stop by the closest gas station and get a case of beer. I'll need time to come up with an excuse for why we're so late."
"Sure."
I checked my phone. There were twenty missed calls, all from Janet.
No matter what, I would be walking into a fight. I could imagine her pacing the floor of her immaculate kitchen seething with rage.
We had been gone for almost an hour: fifty minutes longer than it would have realistically taken us to obtain alcohol.
As much as I wanted time to stop, it raced by, and before I knew it, Dickie was carrying a case of Heineken under his arm.
"Thank you, Billy," he said, kissing me on the cheek. "I wanted to say that before we got back to your place. I might not have ever tried this without you."
"And thank you for being selfish with me." I returned the kiss.
I tore open the case and popped a bottle.
"Really?"
I shrugged. "Like I said, I'm going to need a shield from the imminent explosion."
He turned into my driveway, and with that, I finished off my bottle.
My mood deflating, I moved to swing open the car door. Dickie grabbed my wrist.
"I do want to see you again. Sorry, I'm not the best at...you know...feelings."
He removed the wadded gas station receipt from the center console and scribbled on it.
"Here. Text me when it's safe, okay?"
I slid the scrap of paper into my pocket, at a loss at what to say. "Good night," I finally responded lamely. I took the case of beer under my arm, stepping out into the gray, cold gloom with a grin on my face.
Would love feedback. email is justynewhitney@protonmail.com
Love Billy