Porch Light

“Mom? Dad? I’m gay.” My reflection looked terrified. Why did my forehead have to be so shiny? I could do this. Totally. Yep. I’ve got this. I took a step toward the door and blanched. I couldn’t do this! No way. I’ve got nothing. “Babe, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon!” My defenses immediately went up. I told him I didn’t like being called babe. Well, okay. I’d told him, like, three times in the two years we’ve been together. I wasn’t known for telling him exactly how I felt. “I’m almost ready, Hec.” I stared at my reflection for a minute longer. My eyes were defiant, knowing I was ready to come out. It was my heart, not knowing if it could take the rejection, that kept stopping me. I sighed, rubbing my face. I’d been trying to come out to them every day for the last three years. And every day, something stopped me: the memory of my father shouting in disgust at the two men kissing on TV. What if he thought the same when looking at me? I put my favorite onyx studs into my ears, shut off the bathroom light and walked back into the living room. Hector was sitting on the living room chair, typing on his phone. “I’m ready, Hec.” Hector looked up and gave me a dazzling grin. Then he stood and gave me a quick kiss. “You look good, Junior.” I shook my head. Everybody called me Junior. I’d gotten used to it, but never really liked it. Technically, I was William Nicholas Martens Jr. And my dad goes by Bill, so I never understood why they couldn’t have called me Will or Nick or something. Junior followed me everywhere. I was Junior in high school and at every job, because my dad was a real estate agent, and everyone knew him. I grabbed my jacket off the back of the sofa and we made our way out the door. I got in the passenger seat, still feeling a little huffy. He calls me babe and Junior, he never lets me drive, and he’s always trying to push me to be somewhere. Granted, I’m often running late, so he’s just trying to keep me on time. But it’s still getting to me. “Remember, my parents are paying tonight, so you can order whatever you want.” Hector pulled out of the driveway, wind howling as rain beat the windshield. “I’m not going to make them spend a ton of money on me. And I still think we should leave the tip.” I opened my passenger visor mirror to check my hair. It was just the right amount of in my face, but it was going to get messed up in the rain. I took a comb out of the glove compartment (Hector called it his jockey box, so I made sure to call it a glove compartment) and combed my hair to look more like it did at work. “We can offer, sure, but they’re going to say no.” His parents had been very generous since we started dating, especially considering I was in a band. Well, probably because I was in a band. We’d formed Taking Back Nick in high school as kind of a joke, really. Originally, it was for a talent show where we performed this ridiculous song about how everybody called me Junior. But we won first place, and decided to keep on playing together to see what happened. I sang and played the piano. My friend, Levi Skaggs, played lead guitar and did backup vocals. Kennedy played the drums, which matched her noisy personality. And Casey, my childhood friend—and the only one who called me Nick (Nicky when he was drunk)—played the bass. We’d gotten really popular in the region. We all lived in King, Idaho, and had traveled to Boise, Twin Falls, Idaho Falls, and down to Salt Lake several times. Our f*******: page had ten thousand likes, which was pretty big for us. Plus, Kennedy managed our Twitter and i********:, so we were pretty well covered on all social media. We performed some covers, but mostly did original material. Casey and I wrote our most popular song, “Sorry,” which was actually all about not being sorry at all. See, Casey had this whole thing where he says I apologize needlessly. And he might have been right, but it was still weird for me to acknowledge it. Like, I wanted to apologize for apologizing too much. So, I guess he was right. He said I was too sorry when it came to Hector. Casey said I was always apologizing to him, and he never apologized to me. But it made sense to me to apologize, because we had to keep our relationship secret, since I wasn’t out to my parents. It was an inconvenience, and I didn’t like being the cause of it. “Oh, did I tell you about the drag performance tomorrow night? You can probably catch the tail end of it after your gig thingy.” He was really getting on my nerves. Gig thingy? And he knew I hadn’t been to the gay bar in town yet because, once again, I hadn’t come out to my family. “I already told the band I was going to go out for drinks with them at The Amazon.” Hector scoffed. “The sss? That place is a total dump. Come on, you’ll have fun at Charley’s, I know you will.” “I’m sure it will be fun, but I’ve already made plans.” He was silent for a moment. I counted down in my head. Three, two, one— “How come you never want to do stuff I want to do?” I sighed. “Do we really have to get into it right now? I told you, I’m not out to my family, so I don’t want to be seen at the gay bar, okay? And I made plans with my band. I’m not backing out on their plans just to go see a drag show. Or the end of a drag show.” “Something I want to do. So, you don’t want to do it.” I counted to ten, willing myself to calm down. “Hec, come on. Once I find the right time to come out, I’ll go with you. When I have gigs on the weekends, I’m pretty much booked.” He was silent. Great. I hated when he gave me the silent treatment. We pulled up to the restaurant and Hector still hadn’t said anything. He shut off the engine and we sat for a moment. “I just don’t feel like you support me, Junior.” “I don’t want you to feel that way. I do support you. I mean, I’m going out to dinner with your parents again. And your dad asks me all those questions about how much the band makes and stuff. Makes me feel bad.” “If you don’t want to do dinner anymore, just say so.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and looked at me. “I mean, we can go right now, if you want.” I threw my hands up and slapped them down on my thighs. “Jesus Christ, Hec. That’s not what I’m saying. Why are you twisting my words?” “I’m just translating what I hear you say, babe.” “To me, that says you’re not really listening, then. Babe.” He smirked, and I shook my head. “Look, I really don’t want to fight. Can we…pause? Put a pin in it?” He sighed, reached over and grabbed my hand. “Yeah. I don’t want to fight either. Let’s just do dinner and we can talk about it later.” He squeezed my hand, and leaned in to give me a quick kiss. Dinner was fine. Hector’s dad only asked about the band’s gig tomorrow night at first, but as the band came up in conversation, he asked how much we were getting paid. I reminded him—like I had several times in the past—that I still worked at the hotel and brought in steady income that way to make up for the band’s meager income. Hector’s mom asked if we had everything we needed (again), if we were doing okay (still), and if we needed money (again). I only had one glass of wine, but Hector had three, so I figured I should drive home. He fought with me for several minutes, but his mom finally just took the keys from him and gave them to me. Hector was kind of a lightweight, and he was an incredibly horny drunk. I had to stop him multiple times from trying to undo my pants on the way home. It wasn’t until we got inside and into the bedroom that I gave in. He unbuttoned my shirt and his lips and tongue made their way down my bare chest, across my n*****s, and down my stomach. He clumsily undid my belt buckle, and pulled down my pants and underwear. I groaned at the feeling of his mouth on my skin. I ran my hands through his hair. I grabbed his face and bent down, kissing him and then pulling him up on top of me. We fell backward onto the bed, where I immediately rolled over to straddle him, undoing his buttons to reveal his muscular, hairy chest. He breathed heavily as I ran my hands along his body, feeling his eagerness beneath me. I climbed off and quickly undid his jeans, pulling them down to reveal his beautiful naked body. After reaching in his bedside drawer to prepare, I straddled him once again. His hands went above his head, as they always did. I’d learned early on that if I was going to have s*x with drunk Hector, I’d better be prepared to do all the work. Soon, he was moaning, “I’m gonna…oh, God, I’m gonna…” “Do it! Yes!” He cried out in ecstasy. I slowed my movements and then stopped, basking in the feeling. His hands released the headboard and clutched my thighs, running his hands up and down. His right hand ran all the way up, grabbing me and squeezing. His eyes closed, he mumbled, “Did you c*m?” I let out a shaky breath. “No.” He let go of me and rolled over, forcing me to get off of him. I laid on my stomach next to him and stroked his back with my hand. Soon, his snores were vibrating the bed. I sighed and stood, grabbing my phone and heading to the bathroom. I helped myself in the shower, using it as an opportunity for release and to clean myself. I’d been with Hector for two years, living with him for the last six months. And I’d lost count of the number of times I’d been left unsatisfied. I’d never told Hector I thought he was a selfish lover. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Plus, I didn’t want to sound needy. Don’t you want to cuddle, Hector? I want to lay in your arms and just have you stroke my arm, or lay your hand on my chest, or even play with my hair. It sounded so sad to me. Of course, maybe it was sad I would need to ask for those things. I finished in the shower and ran a washcloth under some water, getting it warm and damp. Then I went back to the bedroom and carefully rolled Hector over to wipe him clean. I even took the time to peel back his foreskin. I put the washcloth in the hamper, catching sight of Hector’s feet. He was wearing mismatched socks. I felt a wave of anger pulse through me. I had told him time and time again I had put his socks in matches when I did the laundry. And he usually wore matching socks, except when he was angry with me. He did it on purpose. He liked to make me angry, or at least get under my skin. He’d never admitted to it, but the way he approached confrontation with me always made me feel like I was insane for being angry, and I was always wrong. Yes, it was a quirky thing, where I got unreasonably upset if socks didn’t have their matches. I know. But he knew it bothered me, and mismatched them on purpose. I threw a blanket over him, leaving his feet exposed. Maybe your mismatched socks will keep your feet warm. Then, I drew a blanket over myself. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing I was sleeping alone.