Always Forward

Hours later, I couldn't sleep, so I got up and tiptoed across the carpeted floor of my hotel room. This time, I made it a point to knock exaggeratedly on the connecting door to Gabe's room. It took a long time for him to answer. I was starting to feel stupid when the egress belatedly swung open. It seemed that I might have woken him up. Gabe was shirtless, wearing only plaid flannel boxers and looking drowsy, but he grabbed my hand and led me into his room anyway.

We lay on his hard hotel bed together, situated with enough space on the oversized mattress that another person could have easily fit between us. Gabe's breathing was deep and regular. We had slept next to each other so many times...being there with him felt both strangely familiar and completely foreign. I tried to stay still as my body internally buzzed with possibility.

I thought that he was asleep, but then Gabe said, "Sorry about...before."

He rolled over on his side, propping his face on his bent arm. His sleepy eyes met mine. His pupils were dilated in the low light. I could feel the warmth radiating off his bare skin. His breath smelled faintly of cinnamon. When Gabe kept speaking, his voice was low. "I couldn't hold it back anymore. It was like the priapic dam fucking burst. I just had to cum. It was a biological imperative."

I must have looked confused. Gabe made an amorphous gesture over the blankets with his left hand. "You know, like, a version of no nut November? When I broke up with Sasha, I was trying to put some things in perspective, so I took some time for myself...Usually, I jerk off at least once every day, even if I'm having sex. Being that pent up was torture, but I made it almost the entire month. God, seeing you again, especially in that dress. It was like being a teenager. I kept popping boners all through dinner. I was so afraid that you were going to notice. It's really hard to effectively hide an erection in suit pants. When I got to my room, I had this ridiculously uncomfortable case of blue balls; I had to relieve the tension. I couldn't wait anymore."

His eyes danced as he teased me. "God, finally cumming felt so good, but I made such a mess all over myself that I had to take a shower. So I was soaping myself up, spinning out about you walking in, wondering what I should do, but I was still so fucking horny. I started picturing the way that you looked at my body. You had this raw heat in your eyes; I felt objectified, like a piece of meat. Thinking about it, my hard on would not go down. Everything was so sensitive, I couldn't keep my hands off my junk. I immediately had to cum again."

He paused for a second, then dropped his voice an octave and asked, "Did you like it, watching me cum?"

I blushed. I didn't want to tell him exactly how much I had liked it. I was shocked that he was being so candid about wanting me. Lying there, thinking explicitly about his dick, I was powerfully reminded of one night, years ago. We were eighteen; sleeping in Gabe's bed together, as usual. I had woken up, and I was trying to orient myself in the dark. My head spun; my mouth was dry. Gabe was obviously lost in some kind of sexual fantasy, unconsciously grinding his pulsing hardness against my ass. He had somehow worked the head of his cock through the fly of his boxers, up under my baggy t-shirt during his bucking undulations. He climaxed all over my bare back. Most of his hot cum sprayed across my exposed skin. Whenever I masturbate, I can still practically feel his death grip around my ribs, can hear him making these erotically needy groaning noises in my left ear. I had kept myself entirely still, trying to save us both from inevitable embarrassment, blissfully reliving all of the details that I could remember while I waited for his breath to settle and his hand on my breast to unclench.

At the time, I wasn't equipped to separate the nervous crackle of anticipation, that humming, omnipresent need for him to lie on top of me, from the practicalities of our friendship, or the unquestionable love that I had for him. As much as I had reveled in being touched by Gabe, I knew that he didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't about him wanting me. A few minutes later, when Gabe turned over and rolled away from me, I had tiptoed to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I tried not to giggle at the whole situation as I spun around looking for his misspent ejaculate. Once the evidence was flushed, I had stared at my guileless face in the chipped mirror over the porcelain sink. I remember feeling suddenly wise, searching my expression for worldly changes, touching my swollen clit while thinking about Gabe. I came shaking, looking into my own eyes.

When I could breathe normally again, I had tiptoed out of the bathroom with a very full glass of lukewarm water. Then, I had "accidentally" dumped my cup over his semi-exposed crotch when I had "tripped" coming back to bed, obliterating the wet spot. I don't know if he ever knew what had really happened. We had never talked about it.

My reverie broke as Gabe said, "Tell me about yourself, and none of the bullshit surface stuff from dinner. Tell me what's actually going on in your life."

I rambled for a while about my best friend from college. She was having trouble getting pregnant. Gabe vaguely remembered her. He paid attention, his eyes sharp as he asked a few medical questions that I didn't have the answers for. That subject exhausted, I asked what was going on with him. At my prompt, Gabe seemed thoughtful, a little embarrassed. I tried not to get prickly as he expounded on his last break-up. I had no doubt that Sasha was beautiful. I'd never known Gabe to go out with a woman who was not ridiculously attractive, but he liked it when their looks were unique, naturally arresting. He wasn't into artifice or a lot of obvious make-up.

Half listening, I found out that Sasha was an assistant professor of French literature. Her father was a diplomat; she'd grown up all over the world, fluently speaking three languages. That hurt a little bit. I would never be naturally worldly, or easily sophisticated. I'd had to cultivate those qualities. I felt better when he segued into her plastic facade, the way that she was rude to waitstaff. Apparently, his ex-girlfriend was always performing for an invisible audience. Gabe said that they'd been casual for a few months, then the last straw was that he found out that her beauty bill came in at over $1K a month.

I wasn't an idiot. It was obvious that Gabe was pitching his story specifically to me. He was being a little too careful with his word choice, playing up Sasha's faults to make me laugh. Even though I was sure that his ex-girlfriend outclassed me in almost every measurable way, I could tell that Gabe didn't really care about her. When he spoke about her, his tone was flat, uninvolved. The way that Gabe described Sasha, I was reminded of the way I felt about the faceless men who had paraded in and out of my bed over the years. They weren't important, and I could tell that this woman wasn't either. If she was, there would be an underlying frosty tinge or a heat to his voice. I reminded myself pointedly that I was the one lying next to Gabe in his bed, not her.

Gabe smirked, then he asked if I was dating anyone. I shook my head and grinned, channeling my inner minx. "No one special."

Gabe leaned his head back against his crooked arm and sighed. I hoped he was relieved. He said, "There's never been anyone important, ever?"

I leaned back, took a deep breath, and stuck out my chest. "I mean, there have been plenty of men, I'm sure at least one of them could have been special."

Gabe shook his head and laughed softly with me. "They could have been, huh? That means you didn't give a damn about any of them. God, Fox; I forgot how you can be so cutthroat and independent. I always liked that about you."

I grinned at him. "I have high standards, what can I say?"

Our romantic entanglements sorted, we easily segued into our careers. Gabe told me about the things that he loved and hated about his medical career. Almost all of his classmates had trust funds and very traditional, proper families with two successful parents. I could relate. My law school experience had been similar. However, he was obviously passionate about his work. Gabe talked about wanting to help people, shared generic details about some of the most heartbreaking cases that he'd collaborated on. I watched his eyes light up, but his tone wasn't arrogant. Gabe seemed humbled by his successes. He talked animatedly with his hands. Listening to him, understanding that he had risen to a place where people implicitly trusted him to be responsible for their loved ones; where they called him doctor, I was so proud that I felt like my heart might burst.

I told him about my boss and mentor, a lovely, flamboyant man named Roger, who had taken me under his wing on my first day at the firm. Roger was a kind, elderly gentleman who saw me as his protege. We usually got drinks together once a week, trading off the bar choice. He favored very upright institutions that required prestigious memberships and vetting, or sing-along piano bars that fully embraced their inherent cheese-factor. I usually took him to new, trendy cocktail places, or hole-in-the-wall joints with great wine lists and decadent homemade desserts. We always had fun together, spilling all the tea about the office; I got him into drag shows. He taught me all of his little psychological tricks for succeeding in the courtroom.

We kept talking about everything and nothing, gradually sinking leisurely into the softening mattress. My eyes felt so heavy that they started to close on their own accord. I kept drifting off, accidentally pausing mid-sentence. As I fell asleep, I realized how much I had missed Gabe's familiar presence next to me in bed. His warm bulk comforted me. I felt truly alive for the first time in a long time. I had no doubt that Gabe's renewed absence would hurt like a bitch once I was alone, but that eventual loneliness felt like a small price to pay.

Though I don't remember consciously deciding to fall asleep, I do remember snippets of my dreams. I relived some of the best parts of my life, riding in Gabe's dilapidated old Mustang convertible, the top down with big, fluffy snowflakes coming down hard. He ran the heat so high that my feet felt like they were burning as the rest of me froze. It looked like we were in the Millennium Falcon, jumping to hyperspace as the snow streaked over us. I saw my little brother running toward me on fat little toddler legs, so excited to show me the salamander gently cupped in his baby hand. I could practically feel the air rush around me, Gabe holding tight to my left hand as we jumped off the cliff into the rock quarry off Sparger Road, two towns over.

After that, the setting of the dream switched to a halting technicolor. Gabe and I stood next to the stage at Lincoln Theatre, buzzed and passing back and forth a bottle of warm champagne that we had pilfered from the bar. The energy was electric; everything practically vibrated with raw sound. The crowd swayed together as we all sang along to a slamgrass Grateful Dead cover. Gabe stood behind me, his breath hot on my neck as he belted out the words. His sweaty hands were easily balanced on my hips, effortlessly holding me steady. He used his body as a dam against the advancing surge toward the stage. The band played feverishly. It was as though that collective song was the last thing that any of us would ever put out into the world, and we fucking meant every word of it.

Then I was on Spring Break. My college roommates and I had saved and scraped our money together for four years, painstakingly dropping any change into a communal five gallon Pyrex bottle. It was the first time I had been on a plane, let alone out of the country. We'd flown budget at two in the morning to Cabo San Lucas. In my dream, I was suddenly twenty-one again, weightless and zip-lining through the clear blue sky, kicking my feet like a little girl suspended on playground swings. My perspective suddenly shifted, and it was as though I was lying flat on my back below Todos Santos, colorful prayer flags flapping above me in the wind. When I woke up, Gabe and I were spooned together in a sleepy trance; his arm heavy, possessively wrapped around me. I could feel the ghost of a smile decorating my face.

The next time I saw him, we were paired in a mandatory dance class. I felt petty, but somewhat vindicated. I had suspected that my brother's fiancee was exactly the type of woman who would want a choreographed flash mob at her reception. Gabe wouldn't look at me. He was clearly feeling awkward after the unexpected intimacies from the night before. In the stark light of day, our interactions suddenly felt stilted and clunky. Maybe it was my fault. As the sun rose, I'd snuck out of the room, letting him sleep.

I was not a naturally good dancer, but Gabe was a confident lead, so I was able to follow him with minimal embarrassment. Enjoying his warm, wide hand on my waist, I tried to keep my face impassive. When the class finished, everyone else cleared out quickly. We were all sweaty, eager to relax after the regimented physical activity. Wrapped up in my inner monologue, high off of being so close to Gabe, I was complacent; I made some stupid crack about how it was too bad that we had never danced together before. I knew it was a sore spot, that I shouldn't say anything, but I couldn't resist the impulse, and I did it anyway.

Our senior year, I had spent weeks hoping that Gabe would ask me to prom, then he had gone with his slam piece de jour. I had stayed home and angrily made batch after batch of cookies, trying to hide from his mother's sad, sorry gaze. Our little brothers were in the middle of growth spurts; they'd been thrilled by all the sugar. My disappointment had festered under her abject pity and the younger boys' happy gluttony. When Gabe finally came home after midnight, his tux was just disheveled enough to see that it had obviously been reassembled. Lying next to me, he smelled of sex and another woman's salty sweat. I remember feeling like a beleaguered wife who knows that her husband is having an affair. Angry and hurt, I had goaded him. Gabe had stonewalled me. I had yelled, and then we hadn't spoken for two weeks.

After my idiotic, flippant remark, when Gabe turned around, his eyes were hard. His voice was laced with vitriol. "Really?! We haven't seen each other in eight goddamn years. You want to fucking act like we still know each other? You actually want to do this?!"

Gabe had always been unflappable. He had never shouted at me. The situation didn't compute, but I guessed that my moment had arrived, so I made myself nod.

Gabe kicked at the wall and continued, "It was fucking complicated! It's still complicated! I don't know what I thought would happen, coming here alone, seeing you again. I loved you; I wanted you, but you were so smart. Do you really think that you would be a lawyer now if we had gotten together back then?! Do you think that I would be a fucking surgeon? You got into your dream school, and I got into mine. You wanted me to doom us to a long distance relationship all through college? Every time that I thought about making a move back then, I could practically see our future. We would have been happy together for, like, a year, and then the resentment would have taken over. I didn't want to see all the things that I gave up every time I looked at you!"

Sitting on the hard ballroom floor, my chin resting on my knees, I stared up at him. Over the course of his rant, his register had dropped, and I suddenly had to strain to hear him. Gabe's full mouth was pinched. He looked sad when he said, "If we had gotten together when we were teenagers, it would have been immediately serious."

I held up my hand for him to stop. Gabe recoiled slightly, as though he thought I might strike him. I suddenly realized that over the years, I had glossed over all of his flaws, cheapening him and our relationship. Faced with the reality of him, I remembered that Gabe could be incredibly self-righteous. He was so much more than my fantasy. I couldn't decide if I hated it or loved it. When he faltered, there was a moment where I thought I was going to crumple, but instead I squared my shoulders and bit off my words. The bile of my retort practically burned my throat.

"Of all the patriarchal bullshit! You expected me to to go along alone, wanting you, waiting for you, being your best fucking friend while you fucked everything willing with a vagina and a pulse! Everything always has to be on your terms!"

At that, Gabe had the good grace to blush. He pursed his lips and said, "Look, we both had needs. I didn't want to think about how you were getting yours met. What was I supposed to do if we broke up? If I fucked it up? I couldn't lose you, and by trying to protect what we were, the possibility of a future for us, I goddamn lost you anyway!"

I shook my head at him, unwilling to accept his perspective.

Gabe shook his head back, stubbornly mirroring me, his beautiful hazel eyes narrowed. He practically growled, "I needed to know what was real, if we were special. I had to see what I could be by myself, without the safety net of my family, and you. That didn't mean that I wanted you to fall off the face of the fucking earth. I thought we would stay how we were, that maybe someday...."

Trailing off, Gabe flopped to the floor next to me. In the silence, I could tell that his perspective was shifting. He was suddenly seeing my side, reevaluating circumstances that he had previously considered gospel. I felt like such a cliche as I leaned over and slowly pressed my lips to his, desperately hoping that today could be someday. We had never done the experimentation thing together. I had been too afraid to be rejected by him, and Gabe was never without plenty of other offers. It was the first time we had ever kissed, and as his hand came up and earnestly cupped my chin, the moment was so perfect that I felt like I could burst into tears. His mouth was hot and wet on mine, and I suddenly felt the truth in all those saccharine platitudes about love, destiny, and soulmates that I outwardly spurned.

When we finally came up for air, I noticed that Gabe had maneuvered me backward, and we had naturally reclined together against the wall. I was cradled easily between his spread legs. When I placed my palm deliberately on the bulge across the front of his jeans, Gabe's cock jerked. I could feel his heartbeat under my hand. Sitting there, feeling how much he wanted me, our power dynamic suddenly shifted.

"Fox?"

His voice was hoarse. Gabe actually sounded a little scared; there was a tremor in his bass voice that I hadn't heard before. I felt powerfully alive, electrically erotic. I hypocritically enjoyed putting him off balance. With my face so close to his, I noticed a lone freckle in his right iris. The tip of his tongue darted out across his full lower lip. I ran my right thumb vertically over the leftover dampness, then I kissed him again, slow and sloppy. My left hand caressed the short hair at the nape of his neck. When I gently scratched his scalp with my nails, Gabe groaned into my mouth. Goosebumps bloomed on his skin, the fine hairs on his arms stood straight up. His muscles jumped as I explored his taut body with my fingertips.

I breathed roughly into the curve of his neck, suddenly possessive. I pulled his mouth to mine as he wrestled his jeans down over his hips. His dick was visibly leaking. I made a ring with my fingers and concentrated light pressure there, moving my hand slowly up and down. Feeling his submissive shudder, the slick sounds of his lubed erection in my hand, I felt potently alive, and that power sparked straight to my sex. He whispered in my ear for me to grab his balls. When I worked my other hand down, I could feel the thin skin of his scrotum, pulled tight, warm to my touch.