Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
It’s so funny how cool he was about it. Makes me feel like such an idiot for keeping it from him.
It really wasn’t a big deal, and I should have known that, but I know where my issue comes from.
In some ways, this was something I felt like I had to “come out” about, and my last experience with that wasn’t great.
It was the worst, actually.
By my senior year of high school, I was scouted at the H&M I worked at for an ad campaign, which got me an agent and some gigs. Mom and Dad didn’t really mind me skipping out on college for a year for some modeling gigs, especially considering the money was good. On one of the shoots, I was working with a few other guys my age, several of them who’d already come out to their parents. We got to talking in the hotel room we were all being put up in, and of course, I knew I was gay at the time…and it wasn’t something I was good at hiding either. The guys encouraged me to talk to my parents. Several of them even had similar situations as I did, with parents who were very religious. At the end of the day, they said my parents would support and love me anyway. It might be hard, but they would come around.
Not exactly the case for me.
I remember the confrontation one afternoon when I was between modeling gigs. My father, who had hardly ever raised a hand to me in my life, grabbed me by my arms and shook me like he was trying to force me to submit to his desire for me to be different. He blamed the modeling and said that I needed to quit and come back to Jesus. I remember turning to Mom, looking for some support, but she looked to the floor as she sat at the kitchen table like she was ashamed of me, of who I was.
Dad knew of a place where they were going to send me, and I knew that night would be the last time I ever saw them.
Fortunately, a photographer I worked with had a place for me to stay until I could get some extra money through a few more gigs and get out on my own.
Talking to Frankie brought all those feelings back up. But in a good way, because instead of being met with judgment or scolded for something I wanted, I was greeted with support and friendliness. That’s how it should have been. That’s how they should have been.
But in the back of my mind, I’ll always feel like I was in the wrong…that I did something to disappoint them.
I shake out of the thought as I click on the link to the blue collar that Frankie texted me.
I’m not going to think about my asshole parents right now, not when I have amazing friends who understand me and care about the things I want.
“What’s gotten into you?” Bradley asks, sidling up beside me.
I lower my phone quickly, so he won’t see what I’m looking at.
Bradley’s curly hair is nearly as dark as the black aprons we wear. He sizes me up through his glasses like he’s trying to figure out what I’m hiding from him.
Even if he tried to guess, I doubt he’d figure it out.
I sneak my phone back into my pocket.
“Oh, just Frankie texting me,” I say, because it’s true.
I kind of wish Bradley would have given me a moment to check the collar out.
Bradley squints. “You’re up to something. You were chipper all morning, practically whistling when you were baking the cookies earlier.”
“I like baking cookies,” I say, stretching my arms out to either side and shrugging, in a broad, elaborate gesture.
“You got a little boyfriend or something?”
“What? No. Why does it have to be that?”
“That’s all I’m left to assume if you’re not going to tell me what’s up.”
“Oh my God. It’s not a guy.”
But in some ways, it is.
It’s because of how Frankie made me feel about puppy play.
Now I feel so excited and alive…like what I’m doing isn’t wrong, but this exhilarating new adventure that I’m free to explore…and not on my own, but with him. As much as I was interested in learning more with Z and the other guys who were involved in puppy play, going to the Eagle last night was intimidating as fuck.
And really, I wasn’t ready for all that.
Not yet.
“Well, whatever’s gotten into you,” Bradley says, “it’s made us a lot of tips this morning, so keep it up.” He winks.
“Oh, I plan to.” I can’t stop grinning.
“You crazy kid.” He sets his hand on my head and rubbing gently, reminding me of how, in some ways, this feels like it’s always been there, in some way, in my life. Not that I ever thought I would end up here, but like when Frankie pets me, there’s something lovely about it, something reassuring, something I’m eager to discover more about.