Uninhibited

Now it's a party

*
My palm trails the reddish-brown wood of the railing. It's a complimentary contrast to the plain white walls.

I'd told Trey to go ahead, needing a moment to take a breath, because, while yes, I'm doing this, we went from zero, to negative fifty, to one hundred at lightspeed. A solid inhale is in order.

Plus, didn't want his family to think some raunchy mustache ride was happening in their son's childhood bedroom. Totally wasn't, not at all. Just a very PG production. And he plans on doing it more? You'll find no complaints here.

I have never gotten a lip-licking, finger smash, clitty bang-bang quite like that. I'm still here, still random as fuck.

Something about these orgasms he's provided, three times now—not that I'm counting—are life-changing. I'm serious. In the past, anything in the oral department seemed obligatory. A means to a dicking end.

With Trey, everything is more. And I understand now why they call it a release. Because I, one million percent, have exorcised some demons. Can I get an amen?

Trey had asked, multiple times, if I was okay, reinforcing he had no intentions of bombarding me with his family, especially like this. I mean, staying here and in his room? Though, that was kind of my unintentional doing. I said I was fine, and it's true. I'm more than fine. And realistically, what was I gonna do? Cower in the truck and pretend I didn't see them? Seems that hiding hasn't served me so well in the past.

If you'd told me all this, just twenty-four hours ago, when I had no idea I was destined to be on a plane to Georgia—destined might not be the appropriate term. Court had a lead role in that development. Regardless, if you told me I'd be here, and we'd bang in his truck—I'd believe that part—only to fight right after, then I'd say what I meant and admit feelings—fucking feelings?—I woulda laughed in your face.

But I do feel them.

So why'd I run from them? Because that's what I know. Though, maybe it really is time to try something new.

I head down the final flight of stairs, examining the colored frames with candid pics on the wall. Not uniform and spaced a strict six inches apart, like the house I grew up in. They're mismatched, with unique designs, and in various sizes that absolutely fucking work.

The noises of talking all at once and plain old joy travel through the air, resulting in a smile and filling me with a sinking sensation at the same time.

I study several Christmas photos with Chaz nestled in with Trey's family, his face lit up. Even though I've met them for all of two minutes, I already understand why.

And I wonder which is worse?

Parents who aren't physically there, or ones who aren't emotionally?