Straight Through - Paul and Brandon

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A straight guy wonders... but will he find out?
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MJRoberts
MJRoberts
1,290 Followers

Dear Reader,

For some reason when this first posted it got cut off in the middle but this should be the entire story as it is meant to be read.

MJ

STRAIGHT THROUGH

It all started because of a TV show actually. Which just goes to show that that shit is bad for you. Or maybe it shows how you never know how your whole world can get knocked around like a snow-globe in a hurricane if you're not careful.

I was washing dishes and watching, more listening to than watching actually, an old episode of Two and Half Men. Not that I usually watch that shit, but there you go. It was an old one. A re-run. From back when Charlie Sheen was still on the show. Charlie was in his therapist's office, talking to that actress who plays the butch gym teacher on Glee.

They were going on and on about something and I wasn't really hearing what they were saying, it was just, blah, blah, blah, as I ran the water. And I turned off the water and then all of a sudden the actress said loudly, as clear as day, "You know Charlie, when a man continues to go through women like water he's usually gay."

"Nooooooo," I said out loud.

"Noooooo," Charlie Sheen said.

I turned around and looked at the screen. He was staring at the therapist with his mouth open.

So was I.

"Nah," he said. Then he chuckled an uncomfortable chuckle and waved his hand like he was waving away a load of crap he just couldn't handle. "Nah," he said again.

I clicked the TV off.

"What the fuck?" I said to myself.

I realized I had forgotten to wash one pan but I was done with kitchen chores; that's for sure.

"I'm as straight as they come," I said out loud.

I grabbed my leather jacket and my car keys. "Fuck this, I'm getting out of here, I could use a drink."

I usually keep beers in the house but I was out. Besides, I was in the mood for something harder. I got in my car and drove around, not really seeing.

I drove and drove, telling myself it was stupid to get all twisted in the head over a stupid show. I just hadn't found the right woman yet. Right?

Except what if that wasn't it?

I wasn't homophobic, not in the least. But it never occurred to me that even think that I might be...? Nah.

I pulled into a bar with a big red sign and a well-lit parking lot and slammed the door of my pick-up truck way too hard. "This is ridiculous. You're not a teenager. If you were....anything... you would have realized it by now," I mumbled.

But then I wondered. Was the reason I dated and dated because I was avoiding something? And yeah, I'd had a lot of sex but I had a lot more dating that hadn't ended in sex. Was I going and going because I was trying to prove something?

Nah.

I sat at the far end of the bar and ordered a shot.

I stared at the glass and then put my face in my hands. I'm straight. I've always been straight. I'm super straight. Straight as a fucking arrow straight. Straight, straight, straight. I'm a fucking lumberjack for Christ's sake, how straight can you get?

I felt someone come up next to me to order.

I tossed my drink back.

The bartender took the drink order from the guy next to me and I said to the bartender, "Another shot, make mine a double. Actually, double doubles, go ahead and bring my next one now."

"You got it," the bartender said and walked away.

"Sounds like you've had a bad day," the guy said.

I looked at him. Tall, wiry, long brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. I wondered if he was some kind of artist or musician or something with that hair.

"Ah, my brain's just been blender-ed and I think my whole world's just been turned upside down," I said.

"Well they say that's good for the soul," he said.

I stared at him like he was from some other planet.

"After it stops sucking, I mean," he said.

"Yeah," I said.

"Listen, my band's playing here tomorrow night," he said. "Why don't you come out and hear us? We're really upbeat and fun but still seriously rocking, the kind of thing that will get your mind off your troubles."

He pulled out a shiny black business card with a picture of a guitar on it and handed it to me. It had his name and his band's name on it.

"Brandon," I read. It fit him; somehow he looked like a Brandon.

"Yeah," he said.

"Paul," I said putting my palm on my own chest before I extended my hand to shake.

We shook hands and I said, "You know, maybe I will come see your band tomorrow night, I could use to have some fun."

"Couldn't we all, my man," he said. "Couldn't we all."

A drop-dead gorgeous redhead in a short red dress came in and automatically my eyes went over Brandon's shoulder to look at her. He turned around to follow my gaze.

"Oh, there's my date," Brandon said. " 'Scuse me, man, nice meeting you. Hope to see you tomorrow."

He gave me a quick, friendly, light clap on the shoulder and then he was off to the other corner of the bar with the woman, who, now that I got a good look at her, was Swimsuit Illustrated level material. The two of them were in the corner by the stage, probably one of the only decently lit areas in the dark bar.

She was beautiful - there was no doubt about it. Strikingly beautiful. And I certainly appreciated it. But did I appreciate it the way I did a beautiful painting in a museum? Like it was just some intellectual exercise?

I looked around the bar. Was I actually just going to walk up to some dude and pick up a GUY in here?

Shit, I have to get out of here.

I threw some money on the bar.

I looked at Brandon and his girl over in the corner again. Yeah, she could be a model but he was... something.

Did I want him more than her?

One thought ratcheted around my head like a marble let loose in the back of moving pick-up truck: I was going to find out.

I've GOT to get out of here.

I sat in my truck in the parking lot for a good 45 to 50 minutes, letting the cold air from the cracked-open windows and my accelerating speedy-as-shit thoughts sober me up. I was glad that I had a bottle of water in the car because the drinking had left me dry. And more confused than when I started. It took a lot of deep breathing before I was ready to drive home.

I got home and surprise, surprise, didn't sleep well. Not a good thing, in fact a serious, serious health hazard in my business. Would the guys give me shit if they knew what I was thinking about?

I thought about it. I'd been with the same team of four other guys for six years. They could give a fuck who I slept with. Whatever happened, they'd have my back, which was essential in a job that had more accidents and injuries on the job than either firefighters or policemen. They might raz me but only if they thought they could get away with it without hurting me for real. We were always busting each other's balls. That wouldn't change. They wouldn't be afraid I'd all of a sudden be mack-ing on them. They were solid.

I paid extra attention at work and got through the day okay.

I ate my dinner of a roast beef sandwich with mustard standing over the sink, like usual, and killed some time before heading off to the Red Sign bar. I arrived at ten, which is when their website said the music would start.

The place was dead. The musicians were there, on stage, still setting up and tuning up.

Brandon called me over when I walked in. "Hey, Paul," he said. "Come meet the guys."

"You look pretty mean holding that guitar," I said. "You actually play it or just wave it around for protection?"

"Depends on the day," he said.

He introduced me to the guys. They all had that same, long hair, skinny to medium body, black music T-shirt, black jeans, black Converse high-tops kind of look. 'Hey look at me I'm a rock and roller'. It worked for them. Brandon was by far the tallest and the best looking.

"Where's your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Who? Candy?" Brandon said. "Nah, she's not my girlfriend, she's just..." he trailed off and didn't finish that one. "She's got a modeling job for a few weeks in Milan. You know, models and musicians, we're like this." He crossed two fingers together. "It's like an obligation to snuggle up to the beautiful people in public," he said grinning.

"Yeah, hardship," I said.

"Right," he said sarcastically. "You know, I just do it to make the masses envious."

One of the band members asked him something and he began to focus on something on his guitar and I stepped away and got a seat at the bar. I ordered a Bud and settled in.

It was another fifteen minutes before his band started playing. Right from the first riff I was blown away. They weren't just good, they were fantastic.

And loud. Reeeaaaalllly loud.

About half way through the first song the bar started to fill up and by the end of the second song the place was packed. Girls were gyrating in the small dance space right in front of the bar, and the rest of the bar sardine-packed with standing room only.

I was glad I got a seat.

A woman in a low-cut dress squeezed in to the space at the bar next to me and I almost started my pick up routine automatically, just out of habit.

Wait, Paul, you fool, that's not why you're here.

So why are you here?

My eyes snapped to Brandon.

Holy shit, no.

NO. Noooooooo. No.

Yes.

Fuck.

As in, fuck me.

I closed my eyes. I opened them again. I looked at him just as he leaned back doing some particularly screaming riff on the guitar. My cock jumped as my eyes drunk him in.

Fuck no.

My cock twitched again.

Well shit.

"Bartender!" I yelled and pointed to the bar in front of me. "A double!" ASAP." As in pour it right into my arm please, because....

"They're great aren't they?" The woman next to me yelled into my ear.

"What?" I yelled back.

She repeated herself and I automatically put my hand on her lower back to steady her as she leaned in to me. I had the desire to just... do her... in the way you want to mow your lawn. Like it's in your way and you want it done and over with.

Crap.

I looked at Brandon again. My flag coming to attention. No lawn mowing there.

Although, he's obviously not gay though.

But then, neither am I, right? But I wanted him. I closed my eyes against an onslaught of want, a tidal wave of want, a tsunami of want. Holy shit did I want him.

The woman next to me said something but I couldn't make it out, even when I tried to replay the words in my mind.

I just shook my head.

She took that as a no and walked away.

Well damn.

"I'm doing too much thinking, that's never good," I said to myself. "Stop thinking, start trusting," I mumbled.

I finished my drink and concentrated on the band. After a little over an hour they took a break. Brandon headed right to me.

"What do you think?" he asked.

We gave each other a hearty hand clap. "You were absolutely right," I said. "That shit will definitely cure what ails you. You guys are fantastic. Better than fantastic, amazing." I tried to think of the ultimate musician's compliment but was having a hard time coming up with anything. "Face-melting, screaming, mind-bending platinum worthy fantastic."

His face lit up in a huge smile and my heart lurched into my chest. Obviously I'd said the right thing.

"Thanks man, that means a lot to me," Brandon said.

"Hey, listen, can I..." I said but then I stalled out. I didn't know what to say. Then loud techno music blared out throughout the bar from overhead speakers and a group of young girls came up to Brandon to fawn over his playing. One girl wanted him to autograph her napkin. It took them a minute to flip their hair and giggle and then they moved away.

"Sorry man, you were saying?" he asked.

"I... ah... I..." I said. Then inspiration struck. "I really wish I could play like that," I said.

"I hear you, Paul," he said.

"No, really," I said. "Do you give lessons? Would you teach me?"

He looked at me.

I put my hand on his arm.

"I'd really like it if you teach me," I said.

"Alright dude, yeah. You've got my card, give me a call and we'll set it up," he said.

Another group of girls called him over and he walked away.

I drank a lot that night. The more I watched Brandon play the more entranced I got. And the more I wondered if I had really had ever had that feeling, that almost crush-like, awe-like daze about a woman.

When the show was over and we'd said our good-byes I got in my truck and fished my phone out of my pocket. I YouTube-d up and tried to find that episode of Two and Half Men and watch the whole dialogue. It took a while to find it but when I did it sounded like that therapist was talking to me.

Words like "let's talk about your relationships with and toward women" and "overcompensation" and "blind from themselves" and "not uncommon" and "totally natural" and "many surprised later in life" made me want to hurl.

I tucked the phone back in my pocket and went home. Thank fuck it was the weekend and I didn't have to go work tomorrow.

I slept well but was plagued with erotic dreams, many featuring Brandon. I woke up worried that I might never have sex with anyone again or maybe worse...

I took a cold shower and shaved and dressed in layers and went for a jog. I took another shower when I got back. I dug out Brandon's card.

Grow some balls, Paul.

It's time to take guitar lessons.

From the moment I made that call my life got better.

Surprisingly, the world seemed to fall into place and life wasn't hard. I put THE QUESTION on hold for a while and let Brandon show me around his favorite local music shop and help me pick out a guitar. I decided to take guitar lessons three times a week because I wanted to get on it (so to speak).

We developed an easy friendship. I went to his shows, I listened intently to his instructions during the lessons, and I practiced like a motherfucker. I felt like I had nine thumbs on each hand but I kept doing it. What choice did I have?

The guys at work teased me about trying to play a musical instrument (trying was right) and I told them as soon as I could play Kum-ba-yah, I would serenade the fuck out of their tree cutting.

This went on for almost a month. My guitar skills were still mostly limited to finger exercises, but hey, that's working off some frustration, right?

Brandon and I were cracking up one lesson, and I was trying how to figure out how to ask him... hell, what did I even want to ask him? Can I buy you dinner? When he started talking about how he was in this metal band in college that had this huge following.

"Did you ever have ah... groupies?" I asked.

As soon as it came out of my mouth I realized it sounded dumb.

He barked out a huge laugh.

"Did we ever," he said. "I think that's probably why I got into guitar in the first place. Chicks were all over, sometimes two and three at a time; men, women, people who followed the band, different fans in different..." he trailed off. Brandon played a really pretty riff on his guitar.

But blood was pounding in my head.

"Of course, that was a long time ago, before I was married," he said.

"You're married?" I said before I thought, surely not.

"No, I'm divorced now. I...ah..." he said but then stopped. "Let's do this," Brandon said and showed me a lick much harder than anything we had done up to that point.

"Listen you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I said.

"No, man, it's cool, I haven't been with my ex in like, ten years," he said.

We went back to concentrating on playing and any opportunity I might have had to slip in a question about sex passed.

We went back to playing. The lesson ended and I left. Another week went by, me going to his gigs, going to his house for lessons, practicing every spare moment I had when I was alone.

It was two weeks later when I finally broke. I was playing a song, an actual song, and I looked up to ask him but then I couldn't.

"Forget it," I mumbled to myself, "I should just stick with what I know," I said.

"What? No!" Brandon said and jumped up. "You can't just quit. What if I just stuck with metal, or just stuck with drums? I'd never have learned how to play to the piano or the blues or electric guitar. When you stretch and you grow... you learn and you know, holy ...wait..."

He ran and got a piece of paper and started scribbling furiously. I stood over his shoulder.

Wait. Had I said something? Was he writing a song?

I started to say something but he held his hand up in the stop position and then wrote some more.

When he was done he was glowing. Then he looked down at the paper again.

It was now or never. "I've never, you know, tried..." I said. "And I wanted to."

He didn't hear me. Brandon was humming to himself and walking, bouncing on his toes a little. Finally he put his heels down. "Thanks a million, Dude, you inspired me. Now we'll just let that percolate. I think that might just be a hit."

Shit. I inspired him?

"Now, you always have to reach Man, try, that's what life is about. Now, I don't know what you're bitching about, you have that lick cornered," Brandon said.

I shook my head.

"What then?" he said.

I put my guitar down and stood in front of him.

Grow some balls, Paul.

"I was going to just stick with what I knew but if I didn't, if I tried something different, it would have to be with someone I ... you know..." I rubbed the back of my knuckles against his cheek.

His head snapped up. "Are you hitting on me?" Brandon asked.

I pulled my hand back.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

I was cut off as he pushed me until my back was up against the wall and crowded me. "I'm not offended, but I want to know. Are you hitting on me?"

"Ah..."

"Are you?" he asked.

He grabbed my arms and held both my wrists together above my head with one hand.

My heart hammered in my chest.

"Are you? Because if you are, I want you to be super clear," he said.

He backed up an inch while still holding my arms anchored. Stared me in the eyes. "Well, are you?" he asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes," I said.

"Good," he said. Then Brandon opened his mouth and scraped his teeth down the inside of one of my arms and I shivered.

Then he kissed me and God, it was so perfect.

"Is this what you were thinking of not trying?" Brandon asked and the corner of his mouth turned up.

I nodded.

He laughed.

"Fuck that," he said.

Brandon let go of my wrists, kicked his leg out in roundhouse sweep, catching both of my legs and pulling them out from under me. In one smooth move he knocked me down to the floor.

He fisted his hand in my hair. "Big strong guy like you. Scared aren't you?"

"Terrified," I said.

"I wouldn't worry if I were you," he said.

He ripped open my flannel shirt, yanked it off, and pulled off my undershirt.

"Because I think this situation just went nuclear in a way that has a big neon sign on it," he said. "And that sign says... he paused to yank my hair and lean in so he was whispering in my ear, 'I'm going to take care of everything'."

Holy shit.

"Ah uh ug," I said.

He kissed down my chest. I closed my eyes and reveled in it.

"After all," he drawled. "I am the teacher," he said.

Hell yeah.

He straddled me, quickly undid my belt and my jeans zipper. He pushed my jeans down a little bit and then got off me.

"So, never done this before, have you Straight Boy?" he said.

I gulped and shook my head.

"Well then, am I going to have to tie you down and dominate you so that you can allow your macho self to relax and enjoy it?" Brandon asked.

Holy fuck, how do I answer that?

He bit my earlobe and slid a hand into my boxers. "So...what'll be... your choice. Do I have to tie you down?"

Gulp.

"Or do you just want me to tie you down?"

Double gulp.

He reached in my boxers and grabbed my cock. My eyes rolled back in my head.

MJRoberts
MJRoberts
1,290 Followers
12