The Sweet Side Of The Ropes: Enthralling Tales Of Male-Male Romance (12 page)

Grabbing her pen from her hand, I added “DIMI” in large, block letters at the bottom of the guest list.

"No!” she cried, yanking the pen back, leaving a long, blue ink mark across my palm. She scratched out Dimi's name, making furious little zigzags across it, the tip of the pen nearly biting through the paper. “I am
not
going to be embarrassed again! Don't you understand? The way you two act when you're together, whispering and laughing ... do you know what people must think?"

I looked at her blankly, although my stomach twisted violently in my gut.

Holly gave a tight little scream, banging her fist on the table so hard that it rattled, her pen rolling off and hit the floor. “They think you're gay, too! Don't you understand? Why else would a married man want to spend so much time with a queer? Do you know what that's like for me? Knowing that people are whispering about poor Holly, the woman whose pervert husband is cheating on her with another man, right in her own house?” She picked up a vase that sat on the table and hurled it at my head.

I ducked, but felt like I'd been hit anyway. The vase exploded against the wall behind me.

"Dimi and I are friends. Do I accuse you of having an affair with Cynthia or Sally, or any of the rest of your friends?” I countered, still trying to hold on to the last vestiges of my self-control and at least
pretend
to be an adult about it.

That only seemed to infuriate her further.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?” I asked, wondering if the Ginsu knives were going to fly at me next and whether I would be fast enough to get out of the way. They sat on the counter within Holly's reach, a wedding present from her aunt.

"Are you gay?” she spat, half-rising from her chair. Her eyes were slits, alive with hate, and I knew in that moment that if it weren't for the mess, those Ginsu knives would be making confetti out of my hide. “Are you fucking him? You are, aren't you?"

Watching her bristle, I was immediately overcome with the memory of Dimi's lips pressed against mine, of his soft warm tongue and the way he had tasted. Even after five years the memory was still so vivid and so clear that it rocked me on my feet.

She knew!

She doesn't know,
I told myself firmly.
She couldn't.
She was insecure, threatened by my close relationship with Dimi, that's all. It was because I was having a little trouble in the bedroom. That's what this was really about. Well, I was seeing the doctor about that wasn't I? What more did she want from me? I wasn't gay.

I wasn't.

"He'll be there or I won't,” I snarled, turning on my heel and stalking out.

It was only later that I realized that I'd never bothered to contradict her.

After that, things went to hell in a hand basket. Three months later, Holly started screwing around with her tennis instructor (could it possibly get more pathetically cliché?) not bothering to hide her affair—flaunting it in fact—and two months after that, she'd filed for divorce.

If it rains any harder, Dimi may have to pick me up in a rowboat instead of his Chevy. I must look a sight, sitting here holding my Hefty bag of clothing on top of my head, rain dripping off the end of my nose, wet clothes plastered to my body.

God, I'm shivering so hard that my teeth are chattering. What I wouldn't give for one of Dimi's hot toddies right now. The kind that warms you up from the inside out, and leaves you pleasantly buzzed at the same time.

I could use a little buzz right now. Actually, I could use a full out, DefCon 4, state of emergency drunk. I deserve it. My life, such as it is, is in shambles.

My credit rating is in the negative number range. I've lost my house, my car, and nearly my sanity. But I can bear it.

The night Holly and I broke up I wasn't so sure. If it wasn't for a heinous fear of heights, I might have seriously considered taking a swan dive off the roof of the high-rise condo Holly bought with her tennis slut.

Luckily for me, I'm a coward at heart who takes to bed when I get a paper cut. Offing myself was not an option. What I did do after Holly kicked me and my few pathetic belongings to the curb was what I always did when my life was threatening to come apart at the seams—I went looking for Dimi.

As it turned out, the night Holly sent me packing was both the worst and best night of my life.

Dimi sent Harry out, and brought me into the kitchen for a man's version of the heart-to-heart. He set the tequila bottle between us, gave us each a shot glass, and proceeded to do what he always did—make me feel better.

Dimi's bottle of tequila was empty by three that morning, and he and I were swaying bleary-eyed in our seats. We'd talked for five hours nonstop, reminiscing about everything from our days playing video games to the college professors we most hated.

He even finally ‘fessed up about Old Lady Maxwell, our high school biology teacher. No, he hadn't fucked her, but only because as he'd bent her over the lab table she'd accidentally hit her head on the cabinet, knocking herself out cold.

Which explained the oversized Band-Aid she'd sported over her left eye for two weeks.

"Come on, we should get some sheep,” Dimi had said, when the tequila finally ran out.

"Sleep."

"That's what I said."

"No, you said
sheep,
not
sleep
."

"You want to sleep with sheep? That's sick, man."

"Not me, you."

"I have never been attracted to livestock—unless you count Peter. He wasn't a sheep, he just smelled like one."

That was our conversation as we helped one another climb the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. Stumbling into one of the smaller rooms, I fell across the bed, out before my face hit the pillow.

It couldn't have been more than an hour later before something woke me. I was never sure if it was Dimi, or some sixth sense that I was no longer alone that roused me, but when my eyes fluttered opened, he was standing in the doorway watching me.

"Dimi?” I asked, squinting to separate him from the shadows. “That you?"

"Yeah,” he said. He took a step into the room, and I realized that he was naked.

And was sporting a hard-on, no less.

That sobered me up pretty damn quick.

My heart began to flutter against my breastbone, and my blood pounded in my ears as he sat down on the edge of the bed. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I also couldn't get up and run unless I wanted to dump his butt on the floor.

I'd just decided to do that, to push him off the bed and hightail it out of the house; to try to outrun the disturbing warmth that flushed my skin at the sight of his naked body, when he asked me a question that shocked me into immobility.

"How long?” he asked, looking down at me with tears glistening in his eyes. “How long are we going to ignore this?"

"Ignore what?” I managed to croak, fisting my hands in the sheets to keep them from going to Dimi's face to wipe away his tears.

"This. Us. We've been dancing this same, sad dance for years. I've been afraid of losing my best friend, and you've been afraid of admitting that you're attracted to me, that you want me."

"I'm not gay,” I said out of habit. I tried to ignore the fact that my voice lacked conviction. But if I didn't say the words then that might make it true, and I wasn't ready to face that possibility.

Dimi just shook his head sadly. “There's nobody here that you need to defend yourself against. There's only me, and you know that I would never judge you.

"Do you remember when I kissed you on the night before your wedding?” he asked, his voice soft. “I still dream about that kiss. Getting up and walking away from your bed that night was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. I wanted so much more than just a simple kiss. I still do."

The memory of his taste came rushing back and this time, once remembered, wouldn't allow itself to be forgotten. It burned on my lips, heating me from the inside out.

He leaned in closer, and closer yet, until I could feel his warm breath against my cheek, feel his lips brush my ear as he whispered, “I've always loved you."

And I knew it was true.

Holly had never loved me. She'd wanted me, needed me, perhaps, but she'd never truly
loved
me. That was only fair, since I realized at that moment that I'd never loved her, either. She was my safety net, a disguise; a costume I wore to keep hidden from the world what I really wanted. I'd worn that costume so well that I'd fooled everyone; Holly, our friends, even myself.

But I hadn't fooled Dimi. Dimi, my friend, my brother in spirit, had seen through me, through the lies I'd told myself and everyone else, but he'd never hurt me by calling me on my deception. He'd never given me away, never pushed; he'd simply made sure that he was there to catch me each time I fell.

Dimi truly loved me. And in a perfect moment of clarity, I realized that I loved him, too.

Turning my head, I kissed him.

Every bit as soft and warm as I remembered them to be, Dimi's lips shot a sizzling bolt of need to my very core. Our kiss knocked down what flimsy, brittle walls remained between us, and the resulting flood of desire that rushed through me took my breath away.

No one had ever made me feel this way, this keyed up, this needy. Only Dimi. Only now.

He broke away, sitting up, eyes hooded, a small smile playing at his lips. Slowly, as if he thought that if he moved too quickly I'd bolt (my running days were over, and I knew it even if he didn't) he began to unbutton my shirt.

I blushed.

God, I hadn't felt my face heat up like that since junior high. I felt positively virginal as he peeled my shirt away and raked my skin with a heated glance. His look burned, made me instantly hard, which in turn made my cheeks burn even more.

He didn't touch me, not yet. Instead he contented himself with just looking, as if he were taking the time to appreciate the presentation of a five-star meal before actually sampling the fare.

Dimi's fingers drifted to my belt buckle, barely skimming the skin of my stomach along the way. Light as his touch had been, my body reacted violently to it, a delicious shiver rippling my flesh.

As I lay there unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, Dimi exchanged one last long look with me before pulling my pants and underwear off. As naked as he was, I felt exposed and vulnerable, unsure of what to do, what to say.

As it turned out, I didn't need to do or say anything. Dimi crawled up onto the bed with me, lying on top of me, belly to belly. “Wait. Don't move,” he whispered, staring into my eyes. “I want to enjoy the feeling of you underneath me."

Wait
? I suddenly didn't want to
wait
. I wanted to taste, to touch; to take huge bites out of him. I wanted to explore, to compare the differences and similarities between us. I wanted to wrap myself around him, crawl inside him, meld with him until I couldn't tell where I ended and Dimi began.

But I lay perfectly still, every one of my nerve endings crackling, exquisitely sensitive to the sensation of his body lying flush with mine. I could feel every inch of him, every hair, every scar, every pore. His cock was rock hard and molten hot against my groin; I could feel the moisture that gathered at the tip wet my skin. His crisp curls scraped the delicate skin of my erection, so hard now that it bordered on painful.

"Need you,” I finally whispered when the waiting became too much to bear. “Need
something
...” I wasn't even sure what I was asking him for. What he'd done with the linebacker? Maybe. The thought of him entering my body frightened me a little ... more than a little.

The fear must have showed in my eyes. Dimi smiled, then kissed me until I moaned into his mouth, my tongue curling around his, my fingers tightening around his biceps. He began to rock his hips, sliding his cock against mine.

Yes! This was what I needed, what I wanted. My Dimi.
Mine
.

"Come for me,” he groaned against my lips, nipping and teasing them with his teeth and tongue. He slipped one hand between us, wrapping his fingers around our cocks, squeezing them together.

Trapped between Dimi's hand and his cock, I thought I might lose my mind as my balls swelled, tightening. Crying out, I came hard, every muscle in my body clenching tight. My eyes screwed shut against the incredible pleasure that rocketed through me as Dimi continued to stroke us together, until he'd coaxed the very last drop out of me.

When at last I opened my eyes, Dimi was smiling softly at me, looking at me from under his thick lashes. He hadn't come, was still hard and dripping against my softening cock. Biting my lip, I reached between our bellies and took him in my hand.

I'd never touched another man's cock before. It felt like mine, but hotter, harder, soft velvet and solid iron. I sucked my breath in between my teeth as his heat scorched my palm.

I knew what to do. Touched him the way I liked to be touched, long slow strokes, fingers squeezing and pulsing along his shaft. Thumb circling the head of his cock, teasing at the slit, spreading his precum.

Then faster, matching every breath he took until he shuddered, gritting his teeth, and I felt liquid heat dapple my belly.

When he opened his eyes again, they were soft with all of the same emotions I was feeling. “Dimi,” I whispered, “I love you."

I know,” he said, smiling. “I've always known. It just took you a while to come around."

Yeah, I guess it did, at that.

We drifted off to sleep then, he and I, wrapped in each other's arms, and it was the most peaceful sleep I can ever remember enjoying.

The following morning, there was a gift waiting for me on the kitchen table. Dimi had already left for work after kissing me and making me promise to be there when he returned.

I stared at the gift for a while, wondering what he'd bought and when he'd had the time to buy it. He hadn't known I was coming; couldn't have guessed that that we would share what we had the night before.

Carefully I opened it, slowly peeling away the paper from the box. Lifting the lid, I peered inside, and nearly broke down into sobs when I read the note Dimi had left on top.