Finally, I decided no title might be the best option.I made an entry for the date.I wrote the time.And then I stared at the page and thought, Am I really going to do this?
I died a little inside as I wrote:Really want to vape.Like, really, really.I checked the email instructions Pauline had sent me and added a column for emotional context.I thought about it and wrote:Tired.Then I added,Bad mood.I had a momentary vision of somebody else finding this fucking thing.Somebody else reading it.I actually blushed, a whole-body heat wave.But since I didn’t want to end up on the Piss Boys next home video again, I added a third column for my notes and wrote,I hate this shit.
Well, at least it was honest.
I drank some coffee, but it tasted sour and set my teeth on edge.Maybe I needed to get out of the house.Maybe I needed to go for a run.Or go to the gym.There was this little gym bunny I saw some mornings.Blond, tan, probably twenty, clearly down to fuck.He was a total bottom (only did the treadmill), and he had a little cowlick that stuck up when he got sweaty.I’d caught him looking at me a couple of times.
Nope, I told myself.No more hookups.No more cruising.No more anonymous sex.
For atleastthree days.
I got up and checked the fridge.There were some leftovers from meals Darnell had cooked, but nothing that I wanted for breakfast.I closed the fridge.I poured myself more coffee and drank it.What went really good with coffee—what was actually the perfect pairing with coffee—was that first hit of nicotine in the morning.The vape pen shifted in my pocket as I sat at the counter again.
I mean, it wasn’t like I’d promised to quit cold turkey.
This is pathetic, I told myself.This is really fucking sad.Grow some nuts.
I drank more coffee and wondered why mine always tasted like shit.
Was my skin starting to itch?That was one of the things that happened when people tried to quit smoking.It drove them crazy.Nicotine withdrawal.People scratched themselves bloody sometimes.
This is the problem, I told myself.Not that some psycho bitch blew your face off.Your real problem is that you are a total fucking headcase.And not just being addicted to dick.This is the kind of crazy where they make a show about you on TLC.This is some Bravo-level shit.
I flipped to a new page on the pad and stared at it.Then, dying a little more on the inside, I wrote, GRAY’S LIST OF BEST FRIENDS – SECRET – DO NOT READ.
Since I wasn’t a treehouse explorer anymore, that one went in the trash.
GRAY’S SUPER SPECIAL PARTY LIST.
Nope, this wasn’tAnimal House.
I gave up on a decent title for this one too.My heart beat faster in my chest.The pen felt slick in my hand.Pauline hadn’t said,They have to be your best friend.She hadn’t said,Only pick people you haven’t fucked everything up with.She’d said people in my life.People I used to feel comfortable with.
I wrote it so fast that it was a scribble, almost illegible, and then I let out a breath like I’d run a race.
J-H.
It didn’t help.If anything, my heart felt like it was beating twice as fast now, and I barely caught myself pulling out my vape.I forced myself to drop it back in my pocket.I dried my hands on my shorts.It’s not like anybody would know what this means, I thought.It’s not like anybody could look at this piece of paper and have any idea what I was writing about.
I added a few more names—a couple of guys I’d been tight with in college, my partner from Springfield.Even as I wrote them, though, I felt something like despair.It had been a long time since Springfield.It felt like a long time, anyway.And even longer since college.I added Foley, since the big Irish fuck wasn’t all that bad, especially after he had a couple of beers in him.I put Peterson on there because, let’s face it, I had to.I tried to come up with more names, but what I got instead was a string of faces—and, full disclosure, sometimes just dicks.No names.Maybe I could ask twink_slave_2001 if he could be my emotional support bottom.
Finally I gave up and wroteClark fucking Kentat the bottom of the list.Not that I was ever going to call Yarmark—although the little nerd would probably cream himself if I did.But it was a pretty short fucking list.I thought twink_slave_2001’s name had been Oliver.I wrote Oliver at the bottom.This, I realized, was the social-emotional version of dickflation.
The list was sad enough.What was worse was trying to come up with a low-key social event that wouldn’t be too much pressure or put me too far out of my comfort zone.I mean, what the fuck was that?I hadn’t interacted with people—not like a human being—in almost a year.Hey, John-Henry, want to grab a coffee?How’s Colt?How’s little Evie?I want to hear about your perfect life and your perfect family.How about a little girl talk, and you can tell me all about that big dick you love to ride?
Okay, honestly, that would be funny as shit.I pennedGirl Talknext to my boy’s name.
But the more I tried to visualize some kind of low-key social event, the harder it got.Hey, Chief, want to get coffee and you can tell me how I’ve been fucking up your department?Hey Foley, I know I’ve acted like a total fuckhole for the last twelve months.How are the kids?
I tried to remember how it used to be.Not that long ago, I’dlikedgoing out.I’dwantedto be around people.But what had I talked about?Hooking up.Fucking around.Jokes about threesomes, about getting laid, about running a train on some dumb twink.Locker room talk.Guy talk.Well, gaybro talk.How the fuck was I supposed to do that now?Hey, guy, have you and your husband ever thought about a three-way with Freddy Krueger?
A low-key social event.Something not too far outside my comfort zone.I tossed the pen down and rubbed my eyes.I’m throwing a little orgy.I’d love it if you could come.But on the invitation, I’d spell itcum.
I pulled my phone out and jumped on Prowler.It wasn’t like I was going todoanything.I just needed a break.
A lot of empty profile icons—blank, anonymous faces, with stupid names like dom_top_ and then an eggplant emoji, and dl_handsomeonyx, and cuminjector, which sounded like a medical device in one of those AO3 stories I’d read and then had to bleach my brain after.It was hard to believe sometimes that they were real people, and they were out there, and this wasn’t just a conveyor belt of dick and hole pics.
I scrolled for a while.I checked out profiles.It was the usual shit.Str8_boy with a toilet emoji had a cute little bio that said,I’m obviously not straight, but research shows that putting str8 in your profile name gives you 98% more views.MASC TOPS ONLY.And then there was virginsquirrel, whose profile sounded okay—lots of outdoor stuff, maybe trying a little too hard for butch—until I got to the end, where he said,Let’s make music like only two dudes can.
