Best Gay Romance 2015 Read online

  “What are you doing back here?” I asked, knowing how rarely anyone had to access the old files. It wasn’t part of the building that saw a lot of visitors.

  “Heard you were stuck out here, having to go through all these,” he gestured at the long rows of filing cabinets. “Figured I’d come rescue you from all that tedium. Or at least try to sweeten the time.”

  His smile was infectious, and more than that, it seemed to be prompting me to levels of bravery I had never expected, for I found myself taking hold of his tie and using it to slowly draw him in closer. “So, what? You’re my knight in shining polyester, viscose and cotton?”

  “Would that make you a damsel in distress?”

  “Don’t even go there,” I warned jokingly.

  His leg was touching mine now and an electric tingle ran through my body. That, combined with the smell of his aftershave, was making it very hard to resist the growing urge to tear off his clothes and have him then and there. A wave of pressure was building within me and the walls I had built up to hide my sexuality from the outside world were crashing down before it. He leaned in, lips almost touching mine.

  “Someone could walk in at any time,” I whispered, but somehow that just made it more thrilling, and I could see the same excitement burning in his eyes.

  “How about we go someplace else, then? After work?”

  “I want to, but…” I faltered, suddenly letting go of his tie as a wave of self-doubt flared within me. What the hell was I doing?

  “What’s wrong?” he frowned. “Something I said?”

  “No,” I stepped away, shaking my head. The truth was I was as confused and annoyed with myself right now as he must have been. “It’s not that.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “But you want to—that’s pretty obvious,” he said gently. “And you know I like you.”

  “I know, but…” I trailed off, unsure of how to explain the wave of emotions that were suddenly coursing through me. It seemed I didn’t have to, he must have read the expression on my face correctly.

  “What are you scared of?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine once more. He reached out and took my hands in his, and at the touch of his skin against mine I wanted to melt into his arms. But still I held back.

  “I’m not out yet,” I said quietly, wondering if it sounded as pathetic to him as it did to me. “You know what it’s like, if people start talking soon everyone knows.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Yes—no… I don’t know.”

  He could have been really pissed off with me then, and I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit. In fact I would have sided with him all the way. He could easily and furiously have pointed out that I had been the one to attract his attention, and had only done that because I was very interested, and on some level wanted what I had started. Instead he disarmed me with a kind and gentle smile, and I knew right away when I saw it that his words had been no office prank.

  “Are you going to let fear rule you?”

  I shook my head, unable to answer as uncertainty coursed through me. As much as I wanted to be free, there was a sense of safety in hiding that I had grown too used to. I knew all too well that once the genie was out of the closet, to adapt a phrase, there was no way of putting it back.

  “You can’t be happy pretending you’re not who you are, living with a whole chunk of yourself locked away in the dark. Denying it won’t bring you anything but loneliness. You deserve better than that.”

  “I’ve coped this far.”

  “But are you really happy?”

  I didn’t reply. I knew he’d see the lie for what it was.

  “I thought not,” he answered for me. “You said I was a knight; well, your fear is like a dragon, and it’s got you imprisoned. If memory serves, knights are meant to slay dragons. So let me help you with that.”

  “You hardly know me,” I said, looking into his eyes again.

  “I’d like to change that.”

  “You might not like what you find,” I warned.

  “That’s always part of the journey. Maybe we find nothing, or we find something that lasts a moment then dies—or maybe we find more, something deeper and stronger. Who can say? Isn’t it worth finding out?”

  I stayed silent, staring down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze any longer. What he said had resonated deeply with me, and yet still I was afraid of what might happen. I knew if I stepped through that door, I couldn’t close it again—and despite all the great strides that the gay community had taken in earning some of the recognition, equality and respect they deserved, I knew that homophobia still lurked like a predator in corners of our society. Was I ready to face that? Was I ready to stand up and be counted, to lose the sanctuary that had kept me hidden and safe for so long?

  “If you change your mind,” Fynn said, gently releasing my hands as he turned and walked toward the door, “you know where to find me. But I can’t wait forever.”

  I wanted to call out for him to stop. Heck, part of me wanted to grab his arm and keep him there in the room with me. Instead I let him go, but I spent a long time watching that doorway after he had walked through it.

  I never did find that paperwork.

  Once again I found myself plodding through a day that seemed to have slowed to an interminable crawl, while struggling to focus on my work. I sat in my chair and stared at my screen without seeing it and all but ignored my phone. Emails came in and went unread, and finally the only way my colleagues could get answers from me was to poke their heads around the office door and ask in person.

  The thing that truly cut deep was that I knew Fynn was right. I was lonely, and I did want more—but there was a dragon barring my path, just as he had said, and I didn’t know how to get past it. I had let fear be my master for so long, I didn’t know how to begin to tackle it. I was also keenly aware that the idea of sex held a curious mixed attraction for me. On the one hand I wanted it like any horny gay guy did. The magazines and DVDs I had in a drawer at home could attest to that, as could my right hand. But perversely I was also aware that I was somewhat intimidated by it. Most guys my age were experienced—and knew just how to hit the right notes and achieve the desired ends. But not me. My stint in hiding meant I had only imagination to draw upon, not any actual experience. And on top of all that, I had to admit I was worried about whether I would match up in the downstairs department, having had no real basis for comparison. That didn’t help to boost my confidence. But thinking of Fynn—his gorgeous face and sexy body, the way he had touched my hands and the look in his eyes as he spoke to me—had set off an avalanche of feelings within me that was gathering momentum, and the longer I sat there, the more I knew I had to do something to break through the barriers of fear that were holding me back before he slipped out of my life.

  His office was at the other end of the building, but unlike me he shared it with four other people, hardly private enough for a conversation, so instead I opened up an email and typed: You’re right. Let’s slay that dragon.

  It took less than a minute to get a reply back from him. Had he been sitting waiting for me to make contact? He typed: Glad to hear it. How about going for a drink tonight after work?

  My heart both soared and sank at the same time.

  I’d love to. But I’ve got someone coming to fix my boiler tonight.

  I hit SEND, wondering whether it sounded like a really bad double entendre.

  This time it seemed to take an eternity for him to reply, though it could only have been a minute. I sat watching my inbox, heart racing with anticipation and dread, until finally his reply appeared: Why not come over to my place after that?

  My heart leaped into my throat and I felt an uneasy flutter in my stomach as I typed back: I’d love to. It took me three attempts to type even those few words properly; my fingers kept tripping over themselves.

  He sent me his address, and I agreed to be there around eight thir
ty. The rest of the day seemed to pass in a daze as I waited for the clock to crawl to five. I rushed out the door before my computer had even finished powering down. I took the steps two at a time in my haste to get to the bus stop. But ironically, everything suddenly seemed to be taking longer—the queue for the bus looked at least twice as busy as usual, and the bus itself only appeared after what felt like a small eternity. And was it me, or was the rush-hour traffic busier than ever before?

  I got home—greeted by the usual shadows and chills as I kicked the door shut—only to see a light flashing on the answer phone. With a flurry of panic I wondered if Fynn had called to cancel, and I pressed the button with some unease. My heart lifted at the sound of the repairman apologizing profusely that he wasn’t going to be able to make it that night, but would arrange to come back very soon. It was the first time ever that a cancellation like that brought a smile of joy and not a cry of frustration—even if it meant living in a cold apartment for a few days more.

  I changed out of my office attire into something more casual and hurried out to the bus stop after grabbing only a very quick bite to eat. My stomach didn’t seem to be in the mood for food right now. But by the time I was drawing up at the stop close to Fynn’s house—a full hour early, the nerves had started to stir deep within me once more.

  When he opened the door I caught my first look at him in casual clothes—a light cotton shirt over a white T-shirt and a pair of dark blue 501s that followed the curves and shape of his legs like a sculpture in denim.

  “You’re early,” he smiled, as his eyes traveled down my body, taking all of me in.

  “Is that all right?” I asked. “The boiler guy canceled.”

  “Sure,” he laughed, gesturing for me to enter. “Can I get you a drink, or something to eat?”

  We sat for a while talking and laughing over a bottle of wine, getting to know each other better and breaking the remains of any ice that might have lingered, including the all important questions about our health status, both clear. But an unspoken sexual tension was building in the air between us and in the lingering glances we shared, and it didn’t take long for us to both feel its pull.

  “I want you,” he said simply, setting his wineglass down. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “Me too,” I admitted. “Since the watercooler, actually.”

  Fynn rose to his feet, took my hand in his and led me upstairs without another word.

  We paused once on the landing to exchange a kiss, and I tasted the wine on his lips as I felt his arms about me. He smiled sheepishly as we entered his bedroom together, my eyes taking in the crumpled bedclothes still thrown aside from that morning, the socks, underwear and a pair of jeans scattered haphazardly on the floor, and a dog-eared copy of Giovanni’s Room resting on the bedside table. I couldn’t help but smile at that, though I hoped it wasn’t to prove an omen of things to come.

  “Sorry. Haven’t got around to tidying yet,” he admitted, as though it wasn’t obvious. “You surprised me tonight, arriving early. It’s not usually like this.”

  “Course not,” I nodded good-naturedly, not believing a word of it. But I was glad for the smile that crossed my face, for it helped me hide the chaotic jangle of nerves that were clattering around inside me. If that feeling had a sound, it would be like the whole brass section of an orchestra slowly sliding off the stage and into a heap. Any little distraction from that feeling helped, but I could still feel a lump in my throat and a curious tingle that seemed to be spreading between my legs. I swallowed and sat down, perching on the side of the bed, keenly aware of the now obviously growing bulge at the front of my tight-fitting khaki cargo pants. I never expected to feel so awkward or vulnerable. In the movies there always seemed to be soft lighting, candles—and frequently the crooning tones of Barry White to stir up the magic. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to find that once again reality and Hollywood fantasy rarely mixed.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, watching me slowly. He moved closer, putting his hands softly on my thighs, running them gently over the material and finally playing with the buttons on the pockets on my legs. “Is this your first time?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.”

  The bulge between my legs was now straining against the cloth as though trying to burst through, and a dark round spot of precum stained the material to the right of my crotch.

  “Someone’s happy,” he grinned, and leaning over he began to lick and suck at the stain, before turning his lips and tongue to play with the bulge that was still growing inside my trousers. A shiver ran through me, and as he eased me back onto the bed I saw a similar bulge straining against the tight cloth of his jeans. I reached out for him, squeezing and massaging his erect cock through the denim, feeling its warmth and firmness, and then his lips found mine as he slid on top of me, our crotches whispering together as cloth brushed cloth and bulge brushed bulge.

  “Lie still,” he whispered, nipping my earlobe lightly with his teeth, while his hands reached down and unbuckled my belt. His agile fingers then got to work on the buttons at my crotch, opening them one by one, before sliding my cargo pants down and off and doing the same with my underwear. I shivered and swallowed as my exposed dick brushed against the front of his jeans, leaving a further trail of precum on the dark denim.

  “Very happy,” he smiled again, looking down at what he had uncovered.

  A shiver of doubt awoke within me then, like a dying ember struggling to flare to life one final time. “Is it,” I whispered, half afraid to ask, “okay?”

  “No complaints so far,” he laughed.

  The doubt flickered and died, and I lay back, finally allowing myself to relax and enjoy the moment.

  He quickly shed his own clothes, kicking them aside, and I caught sight of his cock. It was thin and long and stood proudly up from a tuft of dark pubic hair.

  “Do you like what you see?” he winked.

  “Oh yeah,” I nodded.

  He lay next to me and tugged my T-shirt up and over my head, throwing it onto the floor before playing the tip of his tongue around my nipples and gently running his hands along my chest. I could feel his dick rubbing against my leg, and my own strained in response.

  “Is that nice?” he asked softly as he lifted his head, and it was all I could do to nod. The lump in my throat appeared to have blocked off everything but my breathing—and I only did that when I realized I hadn’t been. His fingers gently explored my skin, running softly across my chest, getting lower all the time. I felt relaxed and tense at the same time—enjoying the experience and yet waiting anxiously for the moment when I knew he would…

  Fynn slid his fingers gently over my balls and up the shaft of my penis, stroking the side of the head and playing with the slit at the top. Again my breath caught in my throat as a wave of pleasure surged through me. Time felt like it had become suspended in amber—seconds seeming to draw out into an eternity, and I didn’t want the moment to end.

  Then Fynn moved farther down and slipped the head of my dick into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue over the tip as he closed his eyes, and a fresh shiver of delight surged through me. I could feel the pressure building up within me and knew any second I would feel that familiar tingle right before I came. I grasped the bedclothes in my hands, twisting the cloth as I bit my lower lip.

  A pleasured grunt escaped my lips as I felt the awaited tingle surge along my swollen shaft—and felt myself come in a wonderful shuddering spasm. I opened my eyes to see Fynn smiling at me, my seed on his lips. And then it was my turn, as Fynn lay beside me and I took the head of his penis into my mouth, repeating what he had done to me, learning from him and feeling the heat of his passion and the throbbing of his erect cock. I took him into my mouth greedily, lips and tongue playing against flesh, delighting in every new experience.

  When he too had come, filling my mouth with his shot, he wrapped his arms around me and
we rolled back. The frantic passion of my initiation spent, now we just enjoyed the warmth of our bodies as they pressed together, skin against skin. I closed my eyes as he buried his mouth in my neck, planting deep slow kisses from my shoulder to my ear and back again.

  I kissed him back, tasting the salty sweat on his body.

  “Thank you, sir knight,” I whispered, resting my head on his chest.

  “Anytime, my prince,” he answered.

  “I think we killed that dragon.”

  “Oh yeah,” he laughed. “We kicked its ass.”

  We stayed together like that for the rest of the night.

  The first night together was just a tiny taste of the many pleasures that Fynn had in store for me, both in the bedroom and as a companion at my side, as he showed me a side of life I had only dreamed of, and one that was more beautiful and bittersweet with ups and downs than I could have ever imagined, but that I would not have changed for the world.

  It has been said that modern society has lost many of its initiation rites for men—those markers and rituals that delineate the different stages of life and growth, such as those found in the ancient and tribal societies from which we have evolved. I think there’s a lot of truth in that. But that night, and with my subsequent coming out, I truly shed my old life in my own initiation rite, and embraced a newfound freedom I had never imagined possible.

  My friends, all but one, welcomed and accepted my announcement with more support than I had ever expected. Even my sister seemed thrilled for me, and I realized the foolishness of having lived at the mercy of fear for as long as I had. And Fynn was by my side throughout my coming out, his hand in mine—both student and teacher at the same time, helping me take those first steps like a child learning to walk and discovering the true value of the freedom that it brings.

  And so, just as true transitions of glass always do, it had come unseen and unexpected, sweeping me into a new stage of my life. One from which I have never looked back.