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Become a publisher. Do I really wanna do that? Thinking up stories, reading about history, archaeology and mythology, sitting down with Jet to create a comic book… this is the stuff I fucking love. Being a publisher would mean working with authors and illustrators to publish the kind of books I like. I loved the process of working with Jet to create a book as we both want it.
But doing that presupposes a capital which I don’t have, not now. What if I work on more stories with Jet and publish those instead? Also, what if I buckle down and work on that historical guide on dragons and other monsters I’ve been dying to write for a while? And later on… who knows?
One step at a time. Hell knows this year I’ve taken lots of new steps. I need to secure my footing. Make sure the people I love are well, healthy and happy. That they know I care for them. That’s my priority.
And to give myself time to get used to all the changes. To adapt. To accept myself.
Acceptance makes me think of other things.
Okay, it makes me think of sex. Hey, I’ve always been horny, and living with my girl and my guy means I think of sex all the fucking time.
Plus, lately I’ve been trying to figure out what Jet wants. Not that he doesn’t tell me. He’s one cocky bastard when it comes to sex. Both he and Candy have no trouble telling me what they like, so I don’t have any real worries on that front.
Still, there’s one aspect of my sex life with Jet I’ve never discussed with him, and I’m not sure I trust him to tell me what he needs. Because I’ve had my head so far up my ass for so long, I doubt he thinks I’d ever want anything else up there, ever.
Like his dick.
In my ass.
The thought should send me into a corner, hiding or rocking. It would have, a couple of months ago. But things have changed.
Everything has changed.
I want Jet like I want Candy—so much my body remembers the pleasure even as I’m entering numbers in a stupid spreadsheet for work—and I also remember how good it feels to be inside Jet.
How lost in pleasure he seems when I fuck him. How he seems to crave it. He once told me that part of it is the feeling of being taken, branded by me. He’d been on some good drugs at the time, still in the hospital after the attack. I bet my right arm he doesn’t remember his ramblings.
But I do, and I wanna know what it feels like to be taken, branded by him. If it feels as good as he says it does.
Christ. What happened to one step at a time?
Still, I’m grinning as I finish up with my boring task and move on to the next. Maybe it’s time to stop being so cautious and jump in, feet first.
Stop overthinking, Joel, and do what makes you happy.
***
Decision made, I call my sis to see how she feels about a family reunion. Not surprisingly, she’s not happy about Mom and Dad coming.
“I’m not sure they’ll come,” I say, cutting through a mini-rant.
“I thought you said they’d agreed.”
“Fuck, no. I haven’t asked them yet. In fact…” I sigh, rub at my eyes. “They still don’t know anything about Jet and Candy, or about my career changes.”
“Oh. Shit.”
Yeah, that about sums it up.
“I’m gonna tell them everything.” I glance at the time on the big plastic clock mounted on the wall. Almost time to go home. “Do you think…” I breathe out.
“Do I think what, big brother?”
“Do you think Dad would do something stupid if I told him the truth?” I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s told me twice already in the past months he’ll throw himself off a damn balcony if I turn out gay.” I wince, my chest too tight, and I press my hand to it. “Would he do it, Evie?”
