after a nightmare. I don’t know if it’s because of hyperventilating and too much oxygen in my system or from something else, but every time I wake up in the middle of one, I feel like I got run over by a goddamn tank.
“That was a bad one,” I tell Benny, whose eyes are full of kindness and understanding. Don’t ever tell me dogs don’t know what’s going on. He damn well knows I’m suffering, and all he wants is to make me feel better.
The clock tells me it’s three AM, and my chances of getting more sleep are zero, so I might as well get up. I force myself out of my bed, which is soaked from my sweat. “Gonna take a shower.” Benny follows me into the bathroom, apparently determined not to leave me out of his sight. I don’t think he trusts that I’m okay, and I gotta admit that he’s probably right.
The lukewarm shower helps cool me off and refresh, and by the time I towel myself off, I’m feeling slightly more human, though still unsteady. I sigh when I walk into the bedroom and see the crumpled, dirty linens. No way do I have the energy to change those now, so instead, I grab a blanket and head over to the couch in the living room, making a quick detour through the kitchen to get a bottle of water. I’m not gonna sleep anyway, so the plan is to watch some TV.
The Home Shopping Network and I have become close friends over the last year. In my defense, I’ve only bought four things, and so far, they turned out pretty good. One was actually much better than I had expected, some weird Teflon-coated defrosting rack that rapidly defrosts meat. I thought it was BS but put a frozen steak on there, and it’s really defrosted three times as fast. And no, I don’t want to talk about the fact that I’ve become the kind of person who is excited over defrosting steak.
I lie on the couch, Benny snuggled close to me, and mindlessly flip through the channels. I watch half a rerun of House—why the fuck would they broadcast that in the middle of the night?—then catch the last forty-five or so minutes from one of the Fast & Furious movies, and before I know it, dawn is breaking, and I’ve survived another night. Yay me.
I’ve lost count of the number of nights I’ve spent like this, but it’s been a lot. Though I have to admit this was the first nightmare in a while. I’ve been sleeping better lately. As soon as I wonder why, I immediately have the answer: Julian and Benny. Or Benny and Julian. I never knew that having a dog in bed with me would make a difference, but it does. He’s like a stuffed animal, only real.
And Julian is… As soon as I think of him, my lips curve up in a smile. He’s sweet and funny, and hanging out with him has been amazing. We’ve had one more meetup since our tumble in the hay—another highly satisfying mutual hand job session. I think I’m ready for more, but I’m not sure how to go about it. Do I flat out ask him? Like, hey, J, can I blow you?
I wince. It sounds so blunt. Surely there has to be a sexier way to approach this. I check the clock. Six fifteen. He’ll be awake, Mr. Corporate Hotshot Lawyer.
Ranger: How do I ask someone if they want a blow job?
David: I can be there in an hour.
I snort.
Ranger: Not you, asshole.
David: I’m willing to sacrifice myself in the name of your research.
Ranger: How honorable of you.
David: I know. And I do have a pretty nice dick if I do say so myself.
Ranger: I’ll take your word for it.
David: You sure? Happy to send you a pic…
He cracks me up. It’s a rare combination, someone as smart as he is with his silly sense of humor. It’s funny because in a way, he reminds me of both Alex and Julian. Their type of humor is all different, but they all make me laugh. Or made me, in Alex’s case. My chest fills with the now-familiar sadness, though it’s a little more mellow each time.
Ranger: I’ve kissed this guy, and we’ve done frotting and hand jobs, but I’m ready to do more. Do I ask him? Tell him? Hint? What’s the protocol here?
David: Any of the above will work. Or next