“That would also be an understatement.” He sat up and grabbed the remote, turning on some streaming music so the room had a softer feel to it. Much better than just seconds before.
“Why so many of mine?”
His eyebrow arched up delicately and he cocked his head. “Your voice, man. You have afuck mebedroom voice. It makes…” He hung his head. “Jesus. I have to explain this, don’t I?”
“You don’t. I can go.”
His hand landed on my knee, and he looked slightly panicked. “No, I can explain. But it’s a bit of TMI, when it’s all said and done.”
I leaned back against the couch cushions. “I’m pretty hard to shock. Hit me.”
“I masturbate to them.”
I was pretty sure my eyebrows flew off my face, and my dick hit the back of my zipper with an audibleting. “Okay, you got me.”
Chase was bright, bright red, and he had moved his hand from my knee, and was nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers. “I’m a demi.”
“A what?”
“Demi. Romantic.” He strung the two words together. “I don’t feel sexual desire until after I’ve formed an emotional and intellectual bond. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get horny. The problem lies in the fact that regular porn doesplllbbbtttshit for me. Normal male visual and sensory stimulation don’t work for getting me there. I need more. I need a formed attachment.
“At first, I would read the M-M romances a few times and feel like I got to know the characters. That helped. But when I found audiobooks… It was a whole new world. And listening to your sultry tones added another layer to it. So I listened. Over and over. And I have the stories memorized.”
“And you…” God, who was I discussing this like a mature adult? I hadn’t once used the termpull your pudin relation to his dick and my voice. “…would use that.”
Chase nodded once. “I need to know people before I can feel sexual desire, and reading and listening to the entireToxic Kissseries in your voice…”
He let out a breath and rolled his eyes. “Shit. This is why I don’t date. This is why every single relationship I have ever had has failed. It’s so fucking hard to explain this. Kieran was good with it, but there was no spark—and other men I’ve gone out with don’t get it. For them, sex is mechanical, a necessary, enjoyable biological development.” He tapped his forehead. “I get stuck being the town faggot who doesn’t like to just have sex for shits and giggles and get run off because the mayor’s son wanted a convenient ass to play with.”
“And you weren’t playing.”
Chase turned and stared at me. “He was my literal nemesis for all my life. A bully and a jerk. And then he discovers he’s gay and I’m going to bend over and let him fuck me? Hell. No.”
Snatching a carton of Pad See Ew, he stabbed his chopsticks into it angrily and shoveled some into his mouth.
I couldn’t hold back the smirk on my lips. “So…you like gay romance, then.”
He choked on the noodles and stared at me. Half a second later, all the tension in the air broke and we both burst into laughter. I had to grab the carton of food from him before he dumped it on the couch, and we just took a minute to let ourselves laugh and collect our thoughts.
Holding up a finger, he shook it in my face. “I just want you to know that I don’tonlyread and listen to gay romance. I also read lit fic, straight romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal romance.”
I giggled like a toddler. “I’ll bet you read all the straight stuff just to hear about the male main character’s junk and prowess.”
He looked offended. “I’m sorry, there’s another reason?”
“Well, it’s okay if you’re a little homoflexible.”
Chase shivered dramatically. “Ugh. Vagina.” He drooped a bit, and sighed. “That makes me sound like Felix. I don’t have a problem with women.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I answered. “How old?”
“Well, I think I suspected when I was really young, like seven, or eight. But I didn’t know how to articulate that. When I kissed Vicky Turnbull at the eighth grade dance, I knew for sure I didn’t like girls because I wished she was Brad Vandergraff.” He sighed heavily. “Brad…”
I laughed. “Brad, eh?”
“I tutored him. He was just the worst at anything literary or artsy. He couldn’t string a sentence together if you gave him the string and laid out the words in order. Math whiz. Tutored me so I didn’t fail miserably.”
“What happened to dreamy Brad Vandergraff?”
