This Crazy Love: A Gay Romance Collection

Chapter 2-1

Chapter TwoHe didn’t call.

I really shouldn’t have been surprised by that. Or hurt, given what he had been through. The past year had been hard enough. First Marcus’s affair, then his death, and then Trevor’s withdraw from the world. Having Trevor brush me off for so long hurt, and I had tried to be supportive. I realize now that he pushed me away for an entirely different reason, and that hurt, too. Part of me was offended he would think I was capable of that, of sleeping with Marcus. Really, really offended. I would never knowingly sleep with someone in a relationship, especially not my best friend’s boyfriend. I’m not that kind of guy, and Trevor knew that. At the same time, I heard what he read, and given that, well, how could he have thought any different? It did sound bad, taken out of context.

It sounded bad in context, too. I should have told him Marcus was having an affair.

Marcus was convincing, though, and that was the problem. How I could I not believe that he would tell Trevor? I knew they loved each other. You don’t make it through nine years without something there. Nine years was a long time, and everybody has their problems. Given, I couldn’t really sympathize with Marcus, but for Trevor’s sake I was willing to try. Cheating? And cheating on someone like Trevor? How stupid could you be? Marcus had it made, and he didn’t realize it. It made me sick. I mean, Trevor is perfect, and he always has been. Nice, open, sociable. He’s everybody’s go-to guy. You have a problem, he’ll help you out, no judgment, no hassle. You need a shoulder to cry on, or a ride, or ten bucks for gas, and he’ll have you covered. Plus he’s neat and funny and smart, and has a good job, and -- just because he wasn’t already perfect enough -- completely hot. Marcus was an absolute moron, and when I saw him with that other guy, Adam, I wanted to punch Marcus and b***h slap Adam. Truly, I did, and I’m normally more of a pacifist, but seeing what Marcus was doing made my blood boil.

So, yeah, I believed Marcus. For a while. A couple of weeks went by, and I knew he hadn’t told Trevor. I knew, because even if Trevor didn’t tell me, something would have happened. Instead, they carried on like normal, and I came over on Thursdays to play Scrabble with Trevor, and everybody was happy. Normal as can be, except I had this ton of bricks I was lugging around. So, I confronted Marcus again. He told me what I wanted to hear. Again. See, it was holidays, he said. He had wanted to wait until after New Year’s, because he couldn’t stand the thought of ruining the holidays. And, just in case Trevor left him, he wanted to have one last good memory. The guilt was eating him up inside, he said, but he wanted that last New Year’s. I couldn’t blame him, although I figured they’d probably work it out.

Only, Marcus never told him. A month went by. I waited until after Valentine’s Day to talk to him about it again. He gave me the same lines, he felt so bad about, all that, but I wasn’t buying it. I told him I was telling Trevor. Then, the kicker, and the part that makes me feel like s**t -- I didn’t tell Trevor. Why? Why didn’t I just suck it up and do it? I keep asking myself that. I should have. Marcus pointed a couple of things out, though, and I was afraid he was right. For one, Trevor would want to know why I had waited so long. Why had I waited so long? Oh, right, because I had believed Marcus. The way Marcus said it, though, it sounded so weak. For what he lacked in physical appeal he more than made up for with verbal finesse. The man could talk a nun out of her panties, pardon the cliché -- and maybe it should be a priest out of his robes. He had me convinced that Trevor would be pissed I had waited, like somehow that made me just as guilty as Marcus. The real kicker, though, is that Marcus said that would happen if -- if -- Trevor even believed me. Why wouldn’t he believe me? Why, because I was the jealous wing-man, forever pining over his friend. Marcus implied Trevor would think I was just trying to stir up trouble in hopes of getting into Trevor’s pants. And under those circumstances, who would Trevor believe? The lame single friend, or his long-time lover? Marcus didn’t pitch it like that. Marcus pitched it like he knew I was the jealous, pining loser, and he was telling me that for my own good. Truthfully? I am the jealous, pining loser.

It was the end of April, a Friday evening, when I got Trevor’s frantic phone call. He needed me, he said, right then, at that moment. He was at the hospital. He wasn’t crying as far as I could tell, but his voice had an odd shake to it that I had never heard. When he first started talking, I thought that Marcus had told him the truth, finally. Boy, was I wrong. Marcus was dead. A car accident, involving some spilt diesel fuel. That stuff is slick, and some poor old guy’s truck skidded out and hit Marcus’s Honda. Not the guys fault, but I’m not sure that made the old man feel any better. The old man was injured, but not like Marcus in his little car. I heard it was messy. Marcus was pronounced dead at the hospital.

I was there every step of the way, helping Trevor with the funeral arrangements, calling family and friends. Marcus’s immediate family had cut him off when he came out, so it really was all on Trevor’s shoulders. It was horrible, but he kept it together. He cried a few times, but not much. Mostly, he was just quiet and withdrawn. Ersan helped out a lot, too, with his boyfriend Kyle. I hadn’t gotten to know Kyle that well, even though they had been dating almost a year at that point, but he helped out a lot, even though he didn’t need to. I respect that.

About a month after the funeral and Trevor changed. Before, he was devastated, but he functioned. Suddenly, he was withdrawn and grouchy. Our phone conversations lasted all of two minutes, and he found every excuse not to see me. I couldn’t understand it, but I thought maybe it was a part of the grieving process. I called Ersan, and we talked about it, because Ersan had noticed the same change. Only, Ersan could actually convince Trevor to see him once in a while, while Trevor made it very clear he did not want me stopping by, nor did he plan on going out. Hurt? Of course, but everybody morns differently. I figured it had something to do with that. Besides, he wasn’t seeing Ersan often, and he would usually manage to cancel at the last minute. I know Ersan stopped by unexpectedly, though, and that Trevor let him in. I didn’t have the guts to just drop by like that.

It took a month after that fateful day with Kyle, Ersan, and Trevor before I had the courage to call Trevor. It was killing me, not having him in my life. It had killed me for the six months or so he had withdrawn from me, and it continued to kill me. It was like I had a sharp ache in the place that Trevor used to fill. At least light had been shed on why Trevor had withdrew from me, but really, it didn’t make it any easier. So, I called. No answer, so I left a message. I figured I wouldn’t hear from him again.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

I looked up to find Dave leaning in the doorway to my bedroom. He walked over and sat on the bed next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. We had been seeing each other for about four months, but we weren’t too serious. I shrugged.

“Aww, baby, come on,” he murmured, brushing his lips over my ear. I shivered. “I think I know what you need.”

I let him push me back on the bed and straddle my hips. He kissed me as he ground his hips into mine, and managed to get a groan out of me. Dave was good. The only problem, thus far -- and it was getting to be a bigger problem the longer we saw each other -- was that Dave was Top Only. Now, I may seem like a big fairy sometimes... like the fact that I cry when I watch Beaches, and Martha Stewart is one of my favorite people in the whole world... but I’m more of a switch than a bottom, and I usually prefer to top. I guess my problem lies with the fact that I tend to go for straight-acting guys. And straight-acting guys that go for guys like me -- basically, a twink -- are usually tops, at least in my experience. Insert big sigh here.

Well, on the subject of inserting... Dave was working my jeans off. As he yanked them down past my knees he captured my c**k in his mouth, and I can’t help but moan. He teases me by just sucking on the head, then taking his mouth away and blowing a cool breath over my damp c**k. My c**k twitches, and he chuckles, a deep sound from down in his chest. Suddenly, my c**k is back in his mouth, my head stuffed in his throat, and his hand is fisting the shaft of my c**k that won’t fit in his mouth. I almost c*m from the suddenness of it all, but I manage to hold back. I run my fingers through his soft brown hair, and wish it was a little longer so that I could really hold onto it. Instead I grab him by the ears and push myself deeper, until he gags. I back off, then push again. His hand is pumping furiously with his bobbing head, and I see a sudden flash of someone else in front of me -- I imagine longer, blacker hair over my c**k, fisting me and sucking me, and I come -- hard.

My mind is reeling. I’m not usually the type whose mind goes to mush after an orgasm -- well, not much, at least -- but my mind was total mush. It had happened again. I imagined someone else while I was having s*x with my boyfriend. I admit; it was a recurring problem. Trevor used to tell me that maybe it was because I wasn’t getting what I needed out of the relationship. Could just be I had a hard-on for someone else.

I let myself be flipped over, and felt Dave kissing my back and neck as he rubbed my ass with some very cold lube. Mush mind or not, I really did not want to have anal s*x with Dave at that moment. I protested, but Dave shushed me, like usual. Times like this make me wonder why I like him at all. They made me wonder why I liked myself at all. I heard the snap of the condom, and I protested again, offered a blow job. Dave chuckled; maybe he really did believe I was joking, I told myself. I knew that I had made myself clear in the past, though, and that he was fully aware of how I felt about anal.

I felt his head push against me, and I tried to relax. He pushed in, too fast, like usual, and I cried out. I put my hands on his thighs behind me to stop him from moving, but he just kept pushing in. I hissed and groaned, and willed myself to calm down; because I knew that in a moment it wouldn’t be so bad. Once Dave’s balls slapped gently against my ass he paused, bending down to kiss my back. He reached around and pinched my n*****s. He also gave my c**k a pull, but he knows that this usually won’t turn me on, and besides that, I had just c*m. My turn-around time isn’t so bad, but five minutes is pushing it for anyone. Dave started to pull back, and the pain was gone. He started rocking his hips, gently, and he continued to caress me and kiss my back. Dave was sweet, he really was, but I wanted him to c*m and get off of me.

The problem with anal s*x, for me, wasn’t just about the pain, though that was a factor. Though I’m a bit of a pushover -- okay, let’s be honest here, I’m completely a pushover -- I guess it’s the loss of control or something that bothers me. Being penetrated by another man is pretty intense, and it’s not an intense I’m entirely comfortable with. I still allowed it to happen, though, so what did that make me? Weak. Pushover. You name it. Maybe I was too hard on myself? I don’t know. But looking at the thing with Marcus, even the thing with letting Trevor push me away and never fighting to investigate why, well, I was losing respect for myself. Even the situation with Dave -- why did I never really stand up to him? I didn’t want to have anal, so why did I just allow it to happen? Why did I never really stand up to anyone? I avoided conflict, at the expense of my backbone. Yup, I had figured it out. I was a complete and total loser.