I met Jeff Andrews in college. Back then, I was still in the closet. He was a handsome, cocky frat boy, and I found that as long as I played straight enough, I got to hang out with him. Of course, I never tried anything on him, and even after college when we had kept our friendship up and I eventually came out to him, I was surprised that he was so accepting. But he really didn't care. Jeff was as straight as they come. He was a notorious playboy all throughout school and throughout the time after. The fact that his company took off so quickly and made him rich in his thirties didn't help his own narcissism and revolving door of girls and girlfriends. But despite his egotism, I always liked him: There was something charming about him that I wanted to be around but dared not go for. Our lasting friendship was sort of a long-term tease that would never result in anything, but I was okay with that. I just lived day by day, always aware that I was different from the people I was friends with, but trying not to let it make me feel like the outcast of the group. Of course, that's often more difficult than it sounds.
When I was thirty-seven and Jeff had just hit forty, he finally settled down and got married. Again. This time, it was to Tiffany, an attractive twenty-five year old brunette. Tiffany was sort of like Jeff, only smarter. I could read girls better than any straight friend, and it was obvious the minute I met her that she was someone with goals in mind. She was flirtatious, feisty, and there was something a little dangerous in her eye. We quickly hit it off and bonded over movies and fashion, and one time she told me she trusted me more than any of Jeff's other friends. Jeff himself was ecstatic: He finally found his perfect trophy wife. His first wife, Miriam, was goal-minded, too, but a little less stealthy about it. She was boisterous and shrill and extremely arrogant. I had never liked her, but she and Jeff had a son who lived with him after the divorce.
Kyle was eighteen, and I had known him since he was born. He had Miriam's baby face, which he tried to cover up with a lip ring and hoodie: It only drew attention to his pretty eyes and smooth skin. I had always thought he was a cute kid, and he was just reaching the age of becoming handsome. When Jeff and Tiffany got married, I wondered how Kyle would take it. While the three of them were together as a family, I hardly ever saw them talk or much less even look at each other. Maybe they figured he would be gone off to college soon, so it really didn't matter. Besides, despite the success of his company, Jeff really wasn't too bright. He either didn't notice, didn't care, or both.
One time, Tiffany and I went out for lunch. We had been meaning to get together for some time, and she found a cute little Thai place downtown that I met her at. We hugged, and as we ate, I told her about my various dating and sex tragedies, how I liked fucking but was ready to fuck someone really special at this point. Good men are hard to find. She stopped eating and smiling and suddenly looked a little hesitant, like she was about to say something. I looked at her intently, waiting to hear it, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice. "Do you like younger boys?" She asked.
I laughed. "Younger, like thirty? Honey, when you're my age, anything under thirty-five is young."
"Younger like eighteen?" She asked, with a twinkle in her eye I seemed to know well.
I paused with a smile still lingering on my face. "That's pretty young for me." I said. "Maybe for a one-night-stand. But nothing serious."
"This is pretty serious." She said. I blinked at her. My smile had almost faded off.
"You know, since I got married to Jeff, I've told you about the sex that we've had. I've made it sound pretty good, but I'm a great storyteller. Really, it's kind of sub-par. I like Jeff and all," ("His money," I thought) "but Kyle-"
"Kyle?!" I exclaimed. "Are you looking at Kyle?"
"I've been looking at Kyle since before I got married." She said. "But you see - He's been a bad boy." I got a little tingle when she said those words. I sort of love hearing that phrase. "I tried just being friendly with him at first, but I knew he didn't trust me. He's sort of aloof, you know?"
"I guess so."
"And since I've been in the house, he acts like I'm nobody, when I'm his legal guardian! Do you know what it feels like to live in a house where the kid you're supposed to be in charge of thinks he's better than you?"
"I'm sorry to hear that." I said slowly.
"But I have a question to ask you - Do you like younger boys? Like, Kyle's age?"
"I like looking at them."
"Would you like to fuck for me?" She said in a low voice. A naughty little smile spread across her pretty face. It looked out of place in that cute little restaurant. I imagined she'd used it on Jeff plenty of times.
"Tiffany!" I said, and laughed because it was the only reaction could make.
"Brandon, at first I tried not to let it get to me. I tried being understanding. Now, I just look at him and I just want to- to- to nail him, you know? The little brat."
"But Jeff's my friend!"
"I have a way to keep you safe." She said. "He's going to college soon. Plus, he tries to be tough. He wouldn't tell a single soul if someone ever fuck him in the ass." Again, those harsh words sounded so weird coming from her.
"Are you serious?" The whole thing seemed completely ludicrous to me. "And what would I do afterward? Just come over the next day for a barbeque with the family or something?"
"You've told me you don't like it here." She said. "You've said that sometimes you just wish you could quit your job and just move to the other side of the country and get away from everything. Honey, I can help you with that." And then she got out a checkbook. "A little early birthday present from me, courtesy of Jeff Andrews." She smiled again and winked.
That made me pause. "Let me think about it." I said quietly.
"Sure!" She snapped back to her bubbly self. "Take all the time you need. Just give me a text when you're ready."
We split the lunch and hugged before saying goodbye, and that night I sat on my couch with my phone in my hand. Another life if I fucked a cute little punk? When I was Kyle's age, I wanted to fuck so badly but was so scared of myself. Starting a life over again sounded better and better every passing second I thought about where my own life had led me.
