Incandescent

The only possible explanation was that Marcus’s confession had gotten to me. And not only because it took me by surprise. There had also been this prickle of something else in my gut, something I’d ignored for years, by choice, and I didn’t know if I could make sense of it now.

After Marcus admitted to meeting a guy, it felt hot and stuffy in the room, and at one point, I considered getting up for fresh air. But that would’ve gone over worse than the idiotic reaction I had. I knew I needed to talk to Marcus afterward. To let him know I was supportive and to explain my reaction—even though I didn’t think I’d done a very good job. And to hear him sound so bummed really affected me because, if anything, he’d become a lifeline this past year, and I hoped I was one for him too.

The admission was brave of him, braver than I could ever be. Or at least during this tumultuous time in my life where I was just trying to be a good parent and hold our family together with nothing more than a paperclip and old scotch tape. That was how it felt most of the time.

I rolled out of bed to jump in the shower before Grant’s alarm went off for school. The problem was, even after taking a piss, my cock was still agonizingly stiff. I decided I could do something about it. It was too painful to think of Rebecca, no matter how pretty she was and how much we’d enjoyed each other’s bodies over the years. It was still too fresh, and I’d only ache for her more.

Instead, I thought about my dream and what happened after that kiss. A few more meetups for sloppy handjobs and rushed blowjobs until we’d gotten our fill and parted as friends who’d experimented with each other. No chance either of us was ready for anything more, and certainly not going public, knowing my father’s views on his gay cousin. My mom would’ve been stunned to learn I was attracted to boys and girls, but eventually would’ve come around. I would never know, though, because she’d passed the year after graduation. I’d met Rebecca during the Christmas holidays when I was twenty, and we’d married two years later, once she’d moved home after college and I was on my way to pursuing my electrician’s license.

I gripped my cock in a tight fist and leaned my head against the tile, trying in earnest to jerk off before Grant pounded on the door to ask what was taking me so long. My brain transitioned from the guy in school to Marcus, remembering how he’d admitted to messing around with men before marrying Carmen. Would his date lead to a hookup, and why did that intrigue me so much? I’d always found Marcus attractive, but I’d never allowed myself to take my imagination further. Until now. I pictured his full lips kissing a faceless man, his strong, calloused hands gripping the man’s shaft, then leaving marks on his hips as he roughly fucked into him, maybe at Marcus’s place, in his bed or on his couch, not that I’d ever been there before. But hell, the picture I created was enough to make me groan deeply and shoot off. Panting, I quickly washed up and finished my shower, my legs feeling rubbery.

Good. Maybe I’d act more human around Marcus now. Besides, that hadn’t been about him, only about the act of getting off. He just happened to crop up because of his recent admission, which obviously made me dream about my own experiences. I could admire beautiful men as well as women and always had. But the term bisexual wasn’t something that had ever occurred to me, likely because I wasn’t exposed to it enough back then for it to feel a real part of my identity.

So why couldn’t I admit that to Marcus? That was something I was still trying to unpack. If I had, he wouldn’t have felt so alone last night. Thank God for Harmony. But I also hadn’t thought about that part of myself in a long time, and certainly not since Rebecca passed. It felt…wrong in the midst of my grief, but I didn’t really know why.

Maybe because Rebecca didn’t know I’d had experiences with men—nobody did, except the two guys I’d screwed around with. It wasn’t that I thought she’d be angry, scared, or hold it against me. More that I’d known with great certainty that I’d found the person I wanted to spend my life with, and even if I fantasized over the years about attractive men, that part of me had simply faded into the background.

I toweled myself off then went to my room to get dressed. I pulled a T-shirt over my head—and my eyes snagged on her side of the bed. Over the years, in our more sobering conversations surrounding the topic of death, she’d begged me not to close myself off to others. To find happiness again. At the time, there was no way I could’ve possibly allowed myself to picture that scenario. Still, I’d promised her, if reluctantly. But looking back, I sometimes wondered if she knew this day would come.