Page 14 of Rent: Paid in Full

He’s got to be pan or bi, right? His signals are weird though. Hard to read. Skittish and inconsistent.

Hmm. Maybe he doesn’t know what he likes yet.

Maybe he’s curious.

Soap and shampoo run down my body as I rinse myself. I close my eyes and run my hands over my chest, stopping to flick my nipples, charging them, waking them up, sending a message all the way to my cock. My right hand follows the message. I soap my dick and start stroking, thinking about what it was like when I was curious. Little spikes of hard-to-explain interest peaking when I was around certain guys. Heightened focus. Hypervigilance. Funny, innocent things would do it, like the way they walked or how their voices went husky when they were out of breath from playing sports. A deep, churning feeling, probing, needling at me. A wondering. Intense inquisitiveness that made me tingly inside.

What would it feel like to touch a guy? To kiss him? To hold him? To grind up against him?

Would it feel different from kissing a girl?

Would it feel better or worse?

It was a feeling that only got stronger the older I got.

I remember a night at Sienna’s house in junior high. I was at peak curiosity at the time. I was such a curious cat it was hard for me to think of other things. Sienna’s parents were away, and a bunch of us were hanging out together. We’d been drinking vodka from her dad’s bar and playing spin the bottle. I’d already kissed Sienna and her friend, Macy. I still had the taste of cherry ChapStick and booze on my tongue when the bottle I’d spun landed on Caleb Mason. Everyone was quiet for a second, and then there were a few jeering whoops.

Sienna smiled and spun the bottle again, and as she did it, I shrugged and said, “Too bad. I’d have kissed him.”

Everyone laughed.

Everyone except Caleb.

Later that night, we were walking down the long driveway to the street where our drivers were waiting to take us home. Most people had already left, and it was quiet, almost ghostly due to the late hour and the cold bite in the air. Caleb was walking next to me. He wasn’t talking much, and I thought he might be mad about what I said, but when we got to the gate, instead of walking through it, I felt his hand on my arm. He pulled me behind the dogwood hedge that grew along the fence without a word. The moon glinted in his eyes, and when I looked down, I saw his hands were trembling. Neither of us moved for a few seconds. My thoughts were racing as I tried to work out what was happening. Then he grabbed hold of me by the neck roughly and lowered his mouth onto mine.

By the time he was done, I was shaking too.

I learned many things that night. For one thing, I learned that if you tell people what you want, you’ll be surprised by how often you get it. And for another, it does feel different kissing a guy. Not better or worse, but different. Mainly, though, I learned that it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just a wondering or a need-to-know situation.

I’m bisexual from head to toe. It’s who I am. Always have been. Always will be.

I pump my hand up and down steadily, letting the water slick my grip on my dick. I think of Ryan’s face earlier, tense and prissy. Lips pressed together and turned down in clear disapproval of me. Pleasure flows through me as I touch myself, a soft murmur at first but quickly growing stronger. I think of Ryan’s mouth. I think of prying his lips open. Parting them where they’re clamped together. Using my tongue to do it. Holding him hard, one hand around the back of his neck and the other on the small of his back to stop him from getting away. I think of my body pressed up against his, keeping him in place, both of us hard as I take the first taste.

I come unexpectedly fast. Hard enough to make me grunt loudly.

Wonder if he heard me?

Kind of hope he did.

7

Ryan

Jesus fucking Christ, whata week.

I admit I haven’t handled the truck situation as well as I could have. By that, I mean I’ve handled it by avoiding it completely. I know, I know, avoiding it isn’t the best way to adult, but I also know the tow truck and repairs will cost money I don’t have, and I passionately hate speaking to people on the phone. So instead of calling around to get it sorted, I’ve spent a lot of time lying in bed, staring vacantly out the window, as the fist reaches into my chest and squeezes the ever-loving shit out of my heart.

In fact, I’d love it if I could spend a whole lot more time doing that, but Miller fucking MacAvoy seems to be going out of his way to be in the room when I’m here. He’s always around. Always. I don’t know how the hell he expects to fit in all his fist-bumping and ass-slapping if he’s always here and not hanging out with the miscreants he calls friends. It doesn’t seem to bother him though. He’s here all the time. All. The. Time.

He seems to take pleasure in getting up in my business. He talks constantly and asks me stupid questions until I lose my train of thought completely. If he’s not talking, he’s doing things.Offering me drinks and moving my stuff around, making me feel like I’m going crazy.

I’ve been so busy trying to keep a handle on everything that I’ve fallen behind on my laundry. My hamper is full to the top, and I’m wearing a T-shirt with a big Pomodoro sauce stain on the front today. I skip my last lecture so I can hit the laundry when the place isn’t heaving with people.

Imagine my surprise when I get to our room to find my hamper empty and neat piles of freshly laundered clothes folded on my bed.

“What the fuck?” I glare at him until he looks up from his phone.

“Oh, you’re welcome. I was sending my laundry out, and I noticed your hamper was full.”