Dean Robinson was a straight, heterosexual man. He had been married for several years to his wonderful and attractive wife, Jane and in all that time he had never strayed. He had looked of course; a slender pair of legs brushing past him in a store or a pair of full, pert breasts encased in a thin top would always turn his head. But that sort of thing would have the same effect on any red-blooded male, he reasoned. No, what had started to bother Dean in the last few months was the now undeniable fact that he had started to look at other men.
At first these feelings had bothered him; was he turning gay? But the feelings, whilst tinged with sexual tension, it was true, were mainly of an assessing, critical nature – he was comparing them. But what, or indeed who, was he comparing these attractive men against, he wondered? Dean Robinson was forced to think back to his past to realise the answer to that question……
Dean had been in his early twenties when his mother had remarried. It had been a tough time since his father had left and Dean had been more than pleased that his mother had found happiness for a second time.
The wedding had been quite a large affair with friends and relatives – many of which Dean had never even met – arriving from all over. It was a happy day for him as well as for his mother and step-father and Dean ate, drank and danced until late in the afternoon.
It had been a warm afternoon and by six in the evening the sun was just starting to lose some of its ferocity. Dean, never having been much of a drinker, was by this time starting to feel the effects of the alcohol he had consumed and wandered tipsily from room to room. He knew that the inane, drunken smile that was plastered over his face must have looked rather stupid, but the combined effects of the drink, loud music and hot weather were somehow forcing him to direct the fixed grin to everyone he met.
Eventually, Dean’s wanderings led him to a large sun-lounge in a much quieter part of the large house that he and his mother now shared with her new husband. The air felt much cooler in here and Dean pressed his fingers to his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pounding sensation that was building up in his head. Dust particles danced in the still air and were highlighted by the streaks of soft sunlight that penetrated the closed blinds. Everything was quiet, everything was still and as Dean lay down on the day bed he closed his eyes gratefully. Just a few minutes rest, he thought to himself. Just a few minutes and then I’ll rejoin the party.
“No, it’s okay, look he’s waking up now.”
Dean’s eyes opened slowly and peered through the gloom at the person that was standing before him. For a moment he had thought that he must still be dreaming, so lovely was the vision of beauty that he was seeing. Her voice seemed to echo around the room and then change in pitch and tempo until Dean suddenly realised that she was not alone; a male voice (that presumably belonged to a male person, for Dean could yet not see anyone else but the wonderful blonde girl) had now joined the conversation.
Embarrassed at being caught sleeping, Dean’s eyes quickly opened fully and took in his surroundings. The pretty blonde looked only a few years older than him and was standing above him with her male companion just behind. Both were looking down at Dean with slightly drunken grins on their faces.
“I’m Abbey,” said the blonde by way of introduction, “and this is my husband Rick. You must be Martha’s boy Dean."
Dean began to raise himself up onto his elbows but abbey quickly raised her palm and placed it against his shoulder easing him gently back down.
“That’s okay, Dean,” she said with a smile, “relax. The party’s almost over anyway. Most folks have gone now. Rick and I are staying over and were just looking for our room when we found you. You looked to cute sleeping!”
Dean reddened with embarrassment again but couldn’t find any words that would make him seem less shy. He remained resolutely quiet.
“No need to be shy,” Abbey continued. She smiled again. “Looks like you were having a good dream though! I hope she was pretty!”
Horrified, Dean realised that both Abbey and Rick were looking at the lower half of his body where the unmistakable bulge of his dream-erection was still clearly evident.
“Maybe it wasn’t a girl.” Abbey’s husband, Rick chipped in. “You shouldn’t be so quick to assume, honey. Maybe Dean here is like ourselves.”
Dean realised that by now his face must have been scarlet with embarrassment, but the more he tried to cover his modesty, the more his erection seemed to flaunt itself. His discomfort was by no means lessened by the ghastly realisation that Rick had actually been right – Dean had suddenly recalled that his dream had been about John, one of the boys (although a very good looking boy, Dean thought with a shudder) that he had know in high-school.
“Is that right, Dean?” Abbey said. “Were you dreaming about a boy or a girl?”
“I…I…don’t know what…..I mean….”
Rick suddenly laughed. Not a cruel, mocking sound but more of a getting-to-know-you sort of chuckle.
“Don’t worry, Dean,” he said, “you’re among good friends here!”
Slowly Dean began to understand what he thought Rick had meant by this statement.
“You mean you’re…..? But I though you two…..?”
“No, I’m not gay!” Rick laughed again and nudged Abbey. “But I am bisexual. We both are.”
Abbey nodded enthusiastically. “So Dean,” she said, “is Rick right? Are you in good company?”
Slowly Dean nodded. “His name was John.” He said. “We knew each other at high school. But nothing happened. Honestly!”
“I was right!” Rick exclaimed and squeezed abbey’s shoulder affectionately. “I told you!”
“Yes, yes. Okay, so you were right. But that doesn’t mean to say that he doesn’t go for women too.
