Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
It was supposed to be an exciting day traversing Santa Barbara with Paris. Except, he didn't answer the door, and then I realized his curtains were drawn, a rarity fo the boy who always keeps his curtains open. I knew then that I needed to check on him.
If Paris needed to talk, I would listen. If he needed comfort, I would hold him. I'd hoped my playful attempt at using a ladder to get Paris' attention would cheer him up. Instead, he seemed absolutely infuriated. The worst part is, I have no idea why.
Did I do something wrong? I thought he liked me. Had I misinterpreted his feelings?
If only Paris would tell me what I did, then maybe I could make it better.
Devastated, I make my way back home. My face is hot, fresh with tears and I try to brush them away, obscuring my field of vision. As I cross the street, I almost ram into a familiar face riding her turquoise bicycle down the cul-de-sac. Luckily, she swiftly brakes and steadies me. With a blink, the film of water subsides and Naomi comes into focus. Her golden skin gleams in the sunlight, accentuated by her wavy jade tresses.
"Naomi! What're you doing here?" I question, trying to blink away any remnants of tears.
"I came to return your ice pack."
"Oh! How's your knee?"
"Much better! I figured a short bike ride would help it heal."
I nod, noticing the same fascination in her glittery sapphire eyes. Suddenly, an idea overcomes me. Maybe, if I spend time with Naomi, I can learn to feel the same way toward her that I feel toward Paris and every other guy that's crossed my path. It's not like Paris wants me around anyway.
Shaking away the tears, I invite Naomi back into my house, pushing back my blond waves and drawing her in with a captivating gaze. She falls for my elevated persona, one I've perfected over time.
Naomi sets her turquoise bicycle on the porch and follows me into the empty house. The two of us return to the dining room table, yesterday's place of conversation, and chat over glasses of water.
Around an hour later, I suggest that Naomi move to exercise her knee. She nods and I guide her around the kitchen, running my fingers along her billowing yellow blouse. As we walk along the tile, the light fabric hikes up past her jean shorts, exposing her abdomen. Gently, Naomi tosses back her hair, beckoning me to kiss the soft skin of her bare neck. In our close embrace, I reach down and press my lips to her neck, trailing kisses up her chin and toward her lips. Swiftly, Naomi gives into my kiss, turning around to feel every crease of my mouth against hers.
Eventually, we make our way upstairs to the bedroom. Tessa lets out a low groan when we stumble inside, but we shoo her out and shut the door. Then, Naomi plants a kiss on my lips and guides my shaky hand up her torso. I gulp back my apprehension and cup her breast, eliciting a light moan. She nips at my neck, dragging her red lips against my skin before yanking off my tee. With guidance, I unbutton her blouse and the thin fabric falls to the floor, leaving Naomi's breasts exposed. While I slip off her jean shorts and panties, Naomi's fingers stroke my shorts, rubbing against my flaccid cock. My heart jumps, terrified that she'll realize I'm not as into her as I may seem. Immediately, I start to imagine Paris instead of Naomi, his cherry red lips kissing my chest, leaving their sensual stain on my skin. Suddenly my cock becomes hard, Paris' warm hands untying my shorts and pulling them off with my boxer briefs. A guttural growl escapes me as I carry Paris to the bed, his delicate nude figure waiting for me to take him.
I imagine Paris and nobody else, touch Paris and nobody else, feel Paris and nobody else.
***
Afterward, Naomi's naked torso brings me back to reality, her torso barely covered by the thin sheets. My body is covered in the product of our carnal affair, a painful reminder of the horrible mistake I've made.
I'm so terrified of what others will think of me that I've allowed myself to pretend to be someone I'm not. And I dragged an innocent woman into my web of lies.
Imagining a world where I'm out and proud seems impossible. Everything would be so much simpler if I kept up this act with Naomi, pretending to fulfill my parent's expectations. Pretending to fulfill the world's expectations.
Nobody wants to be the kid who's shoved into a locker or labeled a faggot by their bullies. Nobody wants to cry themselves to sleep at night because they have feelings for another guy. Nobody wants to live in fear for the gender of the person they love.
I can make Naomi happy. I can shower her with false affection, provide her with endless adoration, give her remarkable pleasure, and father her children. I can work my ass off to provide for her, to buy the house of her dreams. I can do everything a husband should for his wife, except love her.
But at least I would fulfill the world's expectations.
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