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)
Derek sips on his cappuccino. “Well, whatever you do,” he continues, “I’m certain it can’t be any more vanilla than Gary and Travis’s sex.”
“Vanilla?” Gary asks. “We don’t do vanilla.”
“Oh, do you and Trav have some secret fetish you’re into?”
“I wouldn’t say a fetish, but we have some costumes we get out every once in a while.”
“Costumes? Really.”
“He has this…football gear that I like him to wear. And then I play the class nerd…put my glasses on…and he takes them off…”
Derek starts motioning like he’s jerking off, which makes me burst into a fit of laughter.
Gary rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We all have our thing.”
He’s right, we do. And it’s cool to see how everyone—Derek, Hayden, and Gary—all feel comfortable experimenting with different things with their boyfriends.
I wonder if that’s how Frankie and I are going to be. One day, are we going to be looking back and thinking about how we started? And if we started with puppy play, I can only imagine where we’ll end up.
It can’t get much crazier than that? Can it?
Although, I just sort of stumbled across that, and who knows what else I could find out I’m into? I didn’t even know what DPing was until today, and evidently based on Gary and Derek’s reactions, I should have.
Regardless of what I run into that I’m interested in trying, it’s nice being with a guy who I feel comfortable exploring things with, who I don’t feel like I have to hide my interests from.
Peter made me feel so ashamed of anything that wasn’t vanilla.
With the puppy play, I felt like it was stupid for me to even think about it.
Frankie was the exact opposite. He’s reminded me that not everyone’s a complete asshole.
When Gary and Derek finish their coffees, they head out, and I work the rest of my shift.
Bradley works the register while I mix drinks.
I maybe have half an hour of my shift left when a crew of guys who I recognize from around town approach the counter and order with Bradley. They’re all dressed preppy—in polos and button-ups—and as they hang by the pick-up counter, I hear them whispering to each other.
I’m at the espresso machine, working on their lattes, when I distinctly hear one of them say, “He’s the one Peter was fucking while he was still with Gary.”
Suddenly, what was a lovely day, feels like absolute shit.
“Fucking dick,” one of the other guys says.
It reminds me that, despite Derek’s attempt at salvaging what remained of my reputation, there are still those in Midtown who aren’t aware that I’m not just the heartless bastard who Peter was fucking behind Gary’s back.
Still, sometimes I feel like that.
If only they knew that Gary was sitting in here earlier, chatting me up about his sportswear fetish and his and Travis’s honeymoon, they wouldn’t be so judgy.
When I finish with their drinks, I hand them out, not able to make eye contact with any of the guys, which is more like the way I’d behave during a depressive episode than a day like today when I feel great.
They head off, leaving me struggling through the rest of my shift.
I don’t think it was just about their comment about Gary and Peter, though.
Those remarks just pushed me back to a very different time in my life—when I was still struggling through the depression, when I was with probably one of the shittiest partners I could have been with to help me through all that.
I can’t shake out of the mood it puts me in, even as I mentally walk myself through some processes I’ve picked up in therapy.
I manage to get myself to a place where I appreciate that I’m not the person who I was back then.
I’m not struggling. I have my meds. I see my therapist. And I have an amazing boyfriend who is there for me whenever I need him.
I can’t think of a person I’ve ever met who’s more understanding, who listens to me, who’d be willing to have these incredible puppy-play sessions with me and endure my awful singing during karaoke.
I don’t feel great when my shift is up, but I’ve at least talked myself into a better place about it all.
As soon as I get back to the condo, I head into my room.
Frankie’s meeting up with his mom tonight, so he won’t be able to have a training session with me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do this for me.
In fact, I feel like I kind of need it.
I open the pull-out drawer in my closet and take out the puppy hood.
I turn and look at myself in the mirror.
It’s funny to think, at one time, I was fucking trembling with this hood in my hand.
Now, it feels so normal…so right…so me.
I slide it on over my head, looking out through the eye holes, and already, I feel so much better.