I go to bed every Saturday night pretending I'll get to sleep.
But for the last two months, since Tess left him, Roger has built a habit.
I lay on my side under the covers, feeling fatigued enough to drift. But I've begun to wait now, with quiet anticipation.
Sometimes its after midnight, other times closer to 2am. The later he comes home, the greater chance I'll be caught unaware, half asleep and forgetful.
Tonight I'd stripped down and slunk into bed feeling buzzed having gone drinking with the boys and taking in a drag show. There'd been a Twink with foppish hair who'd been eyeing me all night, and I made the odd choice to make an early exit to come home.
Laying there in the quiet, I began to feel sad, regretful, the dark thoughts creeping up from the back of my brain. This was all too fucked up. Why was I wasting my waning youth on this stupidity? I'd be 30 next year, and what did I have to show for it?
Then I heard it. The key in the door.
My heart vaulted and I took a deep breath to stay calm and appear unbothered. Roger was home.
Every familiar noise now felt like a countdown. The lock, the door, the deadbolt, him kicking off his shoes. I could tell how drunk he was by how many bounces his sneakers took off the linoleum. His keys rattled across the kitchen table as I squinted towards my door, watching the light from the bathroom spill out from the hallway. Roger took a loud, healthy piss before flushing the toilet and ham-handedly slapping the light switch. I turned around under my blanket to face the wall.
Here we go.
My door gently swept open and I watched in the mirror on my wall as a body blocked the moonlight. What had once felt like a funny accidental peek at my best friend undressing in the wrong room after a debauched night out, now became ceremony for me. Like myself, Roger had begun to soften and fill out as he exited his twenties. His chest was now slackened and unmanageably furry, a small belly beginning to form. I drank in the reflection of a man's honest body as he pulled his clothes off and approached the bed in filled out grey briefs. I felt the sheets lift as he slipped in behind me and wrapped me up in a cool arm. I laid still, not betraying the illusion of sleep, giving him a moment of pause before pulling me into him.
And for fucks sake, that's all it took to dispel any doubts or shame or worry.
Just drag me into your arms.
The countdown had finished, he was here, I was part of him now.
My body relaxed as I exhaled. And whether he cared or not, I went through a brief performance of being awoken. My hands moved along his forearms until I could intertwine our fingers, I arched my back for more skin on skin contact, and nudged my butt towards his groin. I Bringing the back of his hand up towards my face I gave the rough skin a gracious kiss. It was all the encouragement needed for him to return the favour by kissing my neck. A ripple of arousal rushed down my spine as I pulled him tighter. Moving slow, I turned in bed to bury my face into the curls on his chest. I struggled to slip an arm underneath him in effort to fully embrace. I whimpered like a tiny boy as I lifted a leg over his hip and pushed my erection into the growing such of his briefs.
As I had mentioned before, this was now habitual for Roger- or if I'm being honest here, for us.
And every position I describe here would have, could have been the terminus for our physicality; I would have been happy.
Tess had been Roger's first serious girlfriend, the first long term, monogamous relationship that made him realize that was not only possible, but preferable. He had just begun to sink into that realization, change his mindset and recalibrate his life when she decided she wanted something different. It absolutely shattered him. He had short term plans to ask her to move in together and play house, before the long term plan of starting a family. She didn't want any of that.
In all the years of personal growth, of navigating masculinity and manhood, of realizing adulthood wasn't all it was cracked up to be; right or wrong, Roger had put it all on this single relationship. I had known him since college and seen it all, he had seen me through my share of heartaches and hookups and was always keen on pointing out how the homos and the heteros weren't all that different when it came to love. Post breakup though, Roger had become quiet, and took to partying and going out like some sort of hedonistic rehab.
The first couple times he came home blitzed, he would flop down on my bed half-dressed, mumbling about the events of the evening. I'd giggle and chat, keeping him on his side and hauling the wastebasket within vomitting distance before falling asleep. I'd wake up hearing him pissing in the bathroom, and knowing the nights events had already been forgotten.
Then one night he came in barely standing, managing to strip completely naked before falling into my bed and snoring. I had gone to turn him onto his side when I found myself frozen at the sight of his body.
