"Thank you," I said, feeling too choked up to elaborate.
Our food arrived, and he let go of my hand and sat up. I wasn't sure if it was to make room for our plates, or because he was embarrassed to hold my hand in public.
"Oh, don't let go of his hand on my account," the server said.
He held my gaze briefly and grinned before telling her, "Nah, too hard to use a fork with my left hand."
"All right," she replied. She moved her attention to me and said, "I tried."
I giggled. I hadn't known when I moved here that it would be so easy to live out. Folks in Columbia were generally accepting of homosexuals, but I hadn't thought the same about Westminster. So far, I felt pretty good about living here.
We ate and talked about his Navy years. His daughter. He told me he was never married. He explained, "It was one of those stupid teenage moments where you think, ‘Oh, I don't need to wear a condom,' and then she's pregnant." Apparently it had been a rebellious decision on her part, and he had only been there for the ride-literally. Tristan hadn't been completely sure of his sexuality until he enlisted. "Then I was surrounded by gorgeous men in uniform and with an unequivocal desire to fuck each and every one of them. I think that's why I went overboard after I got out," he said.
I didn't talk a whole lot about myself. I liked how his voice caressed me. It was the best date I'd ever been on. He even paid!
WHEN WE got back to his house, he suggested a movie after giving me a brief tour of the ground level. "You can pick anything you want. I have a stack of DVDs, and I have Netflix." He walked into the kitchen and pointed to the living room.
"You're not going to lock your door?" It's not that I didn't feel safe in his house, but I always locked my door after I got home.
"No. I never lock it. I don't think I've locked the door in eight years. My shop is practically in my yard. I come home every day for lunch, and the only people that visit me either work for me or are related to me, so I've never felt the need. Do you want anything to drink? A beer or something?" He stood by the fridge, waiting for me to answer from the living room.
"I don't think I want a beer. The last time, I was really sleepy as soon as I walked in the door." I started to kneel down in front of the stack of DVDs, but reconsidered. I squatted instead. The carpet looked grimy, and I didn't want the knees of my pants stained. His DVDs were in disarray, upside down and in no particular order. One was out of its case and covered in dust. If they'd been mine, they would have been alphabetized and lined up on a shelf. One title caught my eye, and I slipped it out of the stack. "How about Gone in 60 Seconds?" I asked, waving the case around to draw his attention.
He cocked his head and walked over to me with two bottles of water in his hand. "Why did you pick that one?" he inquired curiously.
"I don't know. I've seen it twenty times, and if I get distracted while we watch it, I won't miss anything important. Why? Don't you like this one?"
His soft smiles were becoming sappier every time. "It's my favorite movie. I guess I'm surprised you picked it."
I glanced down at the case in my hands and then back at Tristan and smiled. "Yeah, well, I almost picked Pitch Black, but I have a hard time resisting this one." I winked, and he chuckled.
He said, "I'm fond of Pitch Black too. Either one would have been fine. I'm glad you like some of the same movies." Tristan placed the water bottles on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. He grabbed the universal remote and turned on the television.
I opened the case. "It's empty."
He smirked. "It's already in the player."
I put the case on the top of the stack and sat next to Tristan. "By the way, I've seen probably 90 percent of the movies in that stack, and I liked most of them."
The look on his face was priceless.
Tristan started the movie, and I opened my water and kicked off my shoes. I was really thirsty, and I knew it was from nervousness. Would he kiss me again? Would we mess around, and how far would he go? He said he wanted to take things slow, but I'd been sitting on idle for so many years I wasn't sure how slow I could go without getting blue balls. I was tired of doing the one-fisted tango alone or coming in my sleep.
Tristan had his arm across my shoulders, and I leaned onto his chest; however, the position was awkward and not very comfortable on my neck. And what should I do with my hands? I had them folded on my lap, but the prospect of rubbing his thigh was very enticing. I moved my right arm so my elbow sat on top of his thigh and my hand comfortably rested over his knee. As soon as I slid my palm around to the inside of his leg, Tristan made a little noise. I continued caressing his knee area, because I didn't want to push my luck. He'd never said how far he would go, which wasn't my fault, but I feared his disapproval if I ventured too far up the inside of his leg.
I kept my fingers in check, but I was dying to rub his crotch.
Imagining what his body might look like, I licked my lips. He'd worn shorts to the gym, so I knew he had solid calf muscles and his brown leg hair wasn't too thick. He had cords of muscle above his kneecap, which I could feel through his jeans. I bet his thighs were amazing.
At that point I forgot the movie. I heard the dialogue in the background, but Nicolas Cage was not my focus. Tristan's breathing had changed to heavier, more rapid puffs. My head was against his collarbone, and he nuzzled my hair with his cheek as I caressed his knee. As I grew bolder and moved my hand north, he placed his hand over mine and squeezed.
"What are you doing?" he asked, but his voice was far from steady.
I lifted my head off his shoulder and gave him a droopy-eyed expression. I all but stuck my lip out and pouted. "Nothing."
He made a guttural noise, like a growl, but deep in the back of his throat. He was two seconds from either shoving me away or eating me. "Grant," he rasped. "We can't do this."
"Just one kiss?" I suggested, looking as fake-sad as I could.
He grunted but brought his mouth down on mine. He was trying to maneuver on the couch as he kissed, but I was quicker and turned where I sat so I was practically kneeling on the couch as I worked my way into his lap. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him like we'd done before, only I wanted to use my tongue. I hoped he was into that.
It wasn't like I knew all that many gay men personally, but I had heard there were men who didn't like kissing, and some who didn't mind kissing as long as there was no tongue involved because they had a thing against saliva getting all over their face. I couldn't say I disagreed with that, but since I'd never experienced the messiness first hand, I figured I was still open to the option.
I had one leg bent on either side of his thighs as I sat in his lap, kissing him aggressively and working up my nerve to lick. When I did, Tristan groaned as he grabbed the back of my head and held me in place while thrusting his tongue into my mouth and kissing me wildly. He lifted me off the couch in his arms and turned us around so he could place me onto the cushions, then leaned down, still kissing me, and knelt between my legs.
It probably would have been wiser to stop kissing, because as he groped for the pillow wedged between me and the back of the couch, his other knee slipped off the side and he tumbled to the floor, nearly dragging me with him.
I giggled as I peeked over the edge.
"It's not funny," he said, staring up at me.
"Yes, it is," I replied, giggling louder.
Tristan wasn't laughing, but he also wasn't upset. He reached out. "Come here."
"But the floor is dirty," I said, wrinkling my nose. His carpet was soiled from grease stains and ground-in mud. It was disgusting.
"You can use my shower later. I promise the shower is very clean." He shoved the table out of the way, muffler and all.
I climbed off the couch and onto his outstretched torso. Once I was lying on him, Tristan held me around my back and rolled, switching our positions so he was lying on top. He smiled into my eyes, proud of himself, as he descended, kissing me again just as deeply as he had before he had fallen off the couch.
I enjoyed his weight on me. He wasn't as heavy as I thought he'd be, or maybe he was holding some of his weight up by his elbows and knees. I didn't know. What I knew was that being in that position made me realize the ache and need I had inside to be fucked. I'd pondered for years how people knew if they were tops or bottoms. Was it experimentation or dumb luck? In this moment, at least for me, it was an undeniable yearning for Tristan to sink inside of me.