This story is about a gay man turning straight, which may not be suitable for readers who get uncomfortable with this topic. However, this story is also set to be a stone for a positive, non-toxic, conversion, in order to try and show how to handle “gay to straight”, without discriminating and degrading others.
“I’m not ready, guys.”
The very long days (and some nights, as well) of planning, studying and strategizing, were a preparation for the real thing, as just a few steps were separating Rita from her first court date.
Michael could feel her tension rubbing off on himself, as well, as if he wasn’t pretty nervous already.
Oh well, at least she hadn’t noticed the journalists approaching the court!
“Are those… Journalists? What are they doing here?”
“You know,” Foster tried to help his client, “usually adoptions don’t get this lot of attention. This is quite different, cause it’s linked to a case of armed robbery. But don’t worry, they can’t get inside!”
The lawyer did his best, but she was still frowning, unimpressed by his words.
“I don’t wanna give you any pressure, but the longer we stay outside, the more likely we’re getting preyed on by them.”
Quite rough, but Clark was right: if that particular moment was portrayed by National Geographic, the reporters would have been the lions, and they would have absolutely been the zebras.
“They would come after us when this will be over, in any case,” Michael answered to his friend, trying to keep it cool, “so I’d rather not be worried, already. Or they’ll get worse.”
Rita scrolled her head, giving up to the whole situation: “You guys definitely know how to deal with a scared woman.”
“And you still haven’t been graced by our finest punchlines and dad jokes!”
A genuine smile showed on her face and Michael felt relieved.
He was also feeling other things towards her, but they were unappropriated, so he just ignored them, as every adult does, when they don’t want to deal with something they don’t like.
Foster took the lead: “We should go inside. It’s time.”
The sun was at its highest, so was a freezing wind, announcing the arrival of winter in the whole continent.
Rita came out of the court, immediately escorted by Foster, Clark, and Michael, before being stormed by photographers and reporters waiting for the woman, outside the building.
“Did this first process go how you were expecting?”
“Are you in possession of extra details about the robbery?”
“Is the adoption part of a bigger picture?”
“What’s the link between you and the LGBTs?”
An infinite and painful flood of questions, speculations, and utter bullshit but luckily, Rita was previously prepared by Michael.
“Not a statement, not a word, not a sound.”
“Don’t let their words echoing in your head, don’t let them even reach your ears.”
“Journalists are not bad, but those who are here, are not here to help.”
“Their questions aren’t meant to find out more from your side of the story, they can’t care any less about your side of the story.”
“They won’t even listen to what you have to say, it’s all about turning your statements into whatever fits their demented narrative and keeps the functional illiterates who read/watch them, happy.”
Questions and speculations bounced off, like arrows against shields. The woman followed the instructions given by her press office and ignored every single word, as the four managed to leave everyone behind and reach their cars.
But just like in a videogame, apparently they had a sort of “final boss” waiting for them, next to Foster’s car. “Is… Is he…?”
Rita gave a puzzled look at that silver-haired man clearly pretending he hadn’t seen them, yet.
Instinctively, Michael girded her shoulders with his arm: “Why don’t we just turn around and reach your car? You’ve mentioned to us by text, that you parked further than here.”
The gay activist could feel his colleagues’ eyes on him as if he did something unusual over an excess of confidence: “I mean…” He immediately removed his arm from her, managing to maintain the proper composure. “We do not know if Craig Guss has any recorder devices hidden, somewhere.”
His client had something else in mind, though: “Actually, I would be more than happy to tell what I think of him, directly to his face. Do you guys mind?”
Foster tried to answer what was gonna be just a rhetorical question, Rita walked with reborn confidence towards the journalist, and Michael saw the woman who he met just a week earlier, the woman who lighted those inner dramas up, again.
“She’s looking so fierce, so beautiful”
The bear made sure he was saying those words only in his head, but he also had to reckon, it was the first time he didn’t try to reprime that attraction.
Craig Guss was “one of the boys”, one like Clark, Foster, and especially Michael: gay journalist, grown as an LGBTQ+ rights activist in the very same city, very committed to the cause. But he was also very eager for attention, craving for that personal fame, that recognition.
Nothing wrong with being ambitious, of course, but when you want to take advantage of activism, and then you acknowledge that won’t make you famous, well, that’s exactly why some people, just like him, decide to crawl for fame by embracing that internalized discriminating attitude.
People like Craig Guss are the ones who love being the subject people talk about: love me or hate me, do talk about me. And he’s a master in making people talk about him, rant about him, scandalize, just like when he said he suddenly got “woken from wokeness”.
Instantly, he became the hero of Aussie conservatives, a gay man telling “the truth” about those horrible pro-LGBT rights politicians and collectives, breaking the chains of “censorship”.
Boo fucking hoo.
The reasons why he was there, were unknown, but one thing was clear: nothing good was gonna come.
“Excuse me? Craig Guss?”
Rita called the man who was turning her away and slowly turned to face her, serving the fakest of the smiles: “Hello… How can I help you?”
“I’m sure you can.” The woman tried to hide her visible anger behind a shield of determination. “My name is Rita Bonelli, and I’m helping my neighbor and friend Lucy, who you may know by the name Lucinda Alvarez, currently in prison for something that she didn’t do. And before you say anything,” the woman abruptly interrupted the journalist who tried to answer, “let me just tell how your discriminating articles and opinions have hurt a lot of Australian immigrants, including my friend, a Latin woman, and myself, an Italian-Australian.”
“Now this is interesting, you know?”
Guss was definitely having his fun, there: cause obviously, when someone expresses their malaise, decent people laugh at it.
“It would be helpful if you actually brought some examples of me discriminating people, ma’am. You see, accusing someone of something they didn’t do, isn’t much appropriate.”
The three were a bit far, but Michael could still see a smirk on Craig’s face: that damn smirk, it was like a trademark. He always found it was annoying, but right at that moment, his hands wanted to meet that smirk, so badly… Where all that wild pulsion was coming from? Did he… Did he want to protect Rita? And what about the boner popping out and pressing behind his briefs?
“Examples, right. I’m sure your article regarding the arrest of my friend Lucy would make a very good example. Where your whole point was not only to say she was guilty as much as him but also, to condemn every Latin who lives here, every immigrant who lives here!”
“Your words are deeply offensive towards my reputation, Miss Bonelli.”
The derogatory smile left in a bolt of lightning, as a gloomy sight appeared on his face. Rita felt her confidence faltering.
“Don’t tell me you really expected I wasn’t aware who you are. I know everything. A regular, random woman in her forties, with a regular, random job in a factory: a failed marriage behind her back, and a not so much florid financial situation… I’m pretty sure a slice of notoriety cake would be helpful.”
The woman was livid, but couldn’t say anything; if that was still National Geographic, now she would have been the antelope trapped in a boa constrictor’s vice.
“I’m not doing this for myself. Right now, an innocent woman and her innocent son are paying the highest price. How can you be that insensitive?”
“How compassionate… Of course, we should all believe you, we should all trust your words, Miss Bonelli. Why? Because… Alvarez told you so? Pretty naive, from a woman of your age. But I’m sure you’re not really that stubborn… What don’t we just lay our cards on the table? You’re a young woman, but maybe too old for a risk-free pregnancy. You want Alvarez’s son by yourself, am I right?”
Rita listened to those words, horrified: “That’s not true!”
“Don’t act that scandalized, please. Your goal is so crystal clear, and I’m not even blaming you, for that. You know what? I could help you!”
A grin showed up again, in the journalist’s face: he had her on his palm…
“Whatever’s going on, I don’t like it.”
Michael was really nervous: “We should go there, guys. I don’t trust any situation involving Craig.”
“We go there, then what? He sees us coming, and will make up a story of how we harassed him, four on one.”
Foster put a hand on his shoulder. “Bitch is smart, but we can outsmart him. I say we keep waiting, the very second he shows he was recording the conversation, well…”
Both Clark and Michael waited for their friend to explain his plan: “Well, we’re gonna have some fun.”
“Let’s make a deal: you give me a detailed explanation of why you would make a better mother, in an interview, and I give you a better platform than what those three hopeless individuals could ever give you, to express yourself, your ideas, your free speech. Also, the judge would be more likely to accept your request, if some… Influent public opinion gets behind you. It’s a win-win situation.”
The woman answered with a sob, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She was quite disgusted, her face was showing it.
“Turning the weak people against other weak people, minorities against other minorities. Poor people fighting each other, for your entertainment.”
Guss was visibly surprised: “My entertainment? Who do you think I am? Did you forget that I’m gay?”
“And? It’s not like that stopped you from turning your back on your own community. Just like you wanted me to turn my back on those guys who listened when I asked for help and supported me, ’cause they believe in justice, just like I believe in justice.”
“In all honesty,” the journalist scrolled his head, quite unimpressed, “you’re desperately trying to target me as the enemy, but all I’ve been trying to do was to understand your reasons and to communicate with you. Unfortunately, you’ve been so aggressive towards me, since the beginning,” he sobbed with a sad face, then proceeded to extract a micro recorder from a pocket of his jacket, “it’s such a lucky coincidence I had this on, right?”
The woman was livid at his mischievous grin; she should have had listened to Michael when he tried to warn her.
What about now?
Was that sneaky man gonna ruin all their hard work?
“You’re not scaring me, Mr. Guss.”
“Who’s getting scared?”
Rita’s eyes shined for an infinite second on the reflection of Michael’s eyes, who blushed a little but kept his cool: “Oh, right! Craig, those shoes are actually terrifying. No wonder our client got frightened! Foster, don’t you think our old friend has actually lost his style since he became a conservative?”
“I actually hoped you’d ask me,” Foster faked a worried expression in the meantime, “what happened to the Craig who knew how to dress?”
“Halloween 1998, you guys!” Clark broke in the conversation, giggling: “He was also the best at lipsyncing Believe by Cher, don’t you guys forget! What happened then? I mean, apart from selling out to the enemy.”
The mockery didn’t seem to affect the journalist, apparently, as he smiled at every word from the three of them: “Really nice of you, bringing back the old times. But since we’re living in 2021, I suggest you keep your clients very close to you, or they will attack other people, like myself. And don’t expect me to slow down on this! Bonelli here accused me of racism and manipulation, this is extremely disrespectful towards me. So much for the so-called tolerance.”
“So what you’re gonna do about it? Transcribe every word, every single word of our conversation, casually recorded by you? And are you gonna include the part where you tried to corrupt me?”
Michael shook his head, laughing; this wasn’t sounding exactly a surprise.
“Let me guess, the same old story of the platform, and the public opinion, and the rest of the bullshit he usually serves?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have any evidence to prove what you’re accusing me of? I’m sure you don’t!” Craig served a triumphant grin, in mockery. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I have an editorial to work on.”
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already!” Michael had the tone of someone with a swerve ready to deliver.
He looked at the rear window of Foster’s car. “Come here and say hi to our new camera!”
Guss felt like falling from a ten feet height. “What are you talking about?”
“Surprised? I bought this toy last week and for a pure coincidence, Michael convinced me to test it today, and it looks like he was right.” Foster would have not admitted that, but he was enjoying that moment, so much!
“I see your dirty game, here. I see what you guys are trying to do, but your bluff is not gonna work. This lovely chat will be reported and everyone will know about Bonelli harassing a journalist and a respectable citizen.”
There was a lot of tension in his voice, and Michael noticed it, as Foster kept talking: “We’re not trying to do anything. Go on, write your article and proceed to throw mud shots at our client and us, as well. But we’re gonna share the recording from this car, which will show how you were approaching our car on purpose, earlier, cause you wanted to meet, corrupt, and finally threaten our client.”
A long silence preceded an enigmatic grin showing up on Craig’s face: “You’re enjoying this, I can tell you are. Bravo. Believe it or not, though, I must inform you that we just got started. And sooner than you could expect, you’re gonna realize I was two steps forward, as always.”
The activists, as well as Rita, kept staring at their interlocutor, as he proceeded to leave: that was intimidation and they wouldn’t have let him get inside their minds.
“Oh, come on!” Michael went further with the mocking: “You can’t leave us again! Spice Girls can’t survive with only four members! Come back, Geri!”
But the journalist didn’t answer to that provocation and kept walking away, lengthening the distance.
It was war, apparently.
Infinite seconds later, everyone seemed like recovering from a spell: “Do you think he has given up on publishing our conversation?”
Rita was looking at Foster for reassurances.
“He didn’t delete the recording, that’s for sure. But we also know, he doesn’t contemplate doubt. Which means…”
“Which means,” Michael joined Foster, “as long as there’s even half a chance of a move backfiring him, he will not make it. And we’ve been good enough to make him wonder about it. Know your enemy, right Clark?”
The psychologist nodded positively. “A part of him knows we bluffed, let’s say his rational side. But even cold-hearted snakes like him are made of both mind and instinct. Fear, in this particular case. And the fear of actually being publicly denied by us and consequently, buried by the public opinion, is strong enough to block him.”
“Hold on,” the woman stopped smiling, “so you never recorded anything? It was really a bluff!?”
Michael got closer to the woman, trying to comfort her. “As much as I hate to say this, we had nothing concrete in our hands. Yet, we managed to keep Guss away from you, for now at least.”
“So, is this my life, from now on? Watching my back every day from people like Craig Guss?”
The gay bear felt her sense of frustration and grew inside him that inappropriate desire to protect her.
“Don’t get my words twisted, I was aware this scenario could have happened. This is not a playground, and I’m lucky enough to have you guys by my side. It’s just… It’s just this idea of having to live in fear and suspect. Even if I get the custody of Marco, what kind of serenity am I supposed to give him, if there’s a target on my back?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t assure you will not have other unpleasant moments, but I wish I could. At the same time, I can’t either state this will be your life, every single day, from now on. The best thing you can do to yourself, and to what you’re fighting for, is to remember that you’re not the article in the newspaper. Your life is not in those paragraphs: what you like, what you don’t like, what you believe in, is so much more than what could ever be written in a magazine, or discussed in gossip talk. You’re much more than that, never forget it.”
His words could have been everything she needed to hear, as Rita answered with a grateful hug that warmed Michael’s heart and lighted him up, inside to outside. His arms surrounded the woman, with a bit of hesitation. Was he looking excessively happy? Were his colleagues giving him upset looks?
Apparently, those questions didn’t make any sense: Clark and Foster joined the hug with every single molecule of their enthusiasm.
So much for someone who just gave the advice of not worrying about things…
“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
Many things can stress Michael out, but others can also calm him down. One of those things calming him down is watching the ordinary life around him, through the smoke of his coffee, in his favorite cafè: it’s usually comfortable to know that whatever intense day he may have had, the world is still spinning, and lives still go on.
But that day something seemed different, in his perception: the calm routine in the cafè was giving him anxiety and jealousy. He wished he was the same guy, the same gay guy, so he could have actually enjoyed that peaceful routine. But the truth was different: he was no longer the same person, he was no longer himself.
He wanted women.
He wanted Rita.
That was something needing to be dealt with: he clearly wasn’t gay, anymore.
Actually, he was sure men didn’t sort any kind of sexual effect on him. Or was he?
Lost in that ocean of thoughts, Foster and Clark talking about the process seemed so distant, to him.
“Do you guys think people can change? A radical change?”
The question sounded so good in his mind, and Michael was going to move his lips and ask his colleagues, but something from the inside stopped him: he was figuring in his mind the possible outcomes, like “People do not change, they just reveal their true colors,” or “People may change, but never for the good.”
And they would have been right, after all: Craig Guss was the living proof of negative changes.
Shoot, they were still talking about the adoption, something that should matter to him as well! And he missed every word, cause he was too busy minding his own pelvic pulsions!
“I’m sorry, I’m having a bit of a headache,” he slowly stood up with the very first excuse he could think, “I have my aspirins in the office, probably I should go there and take one before I feel even worse.”
Clark looked at him with a bit of reproachfulness. “You don’t really need an aspirin, Michael. You just need to take less caffeine on a daily basis.”
Michael felt a resigned smile showing up on his face: “Me without caffeine, wouldn’t really be me.”
“Promise us you won’t stay at work if you don’t get better… We need to be at our 110%, especially now…”
Foster was showing real concern to his friend: “I didn’t want to set a negative mood, earlier, but we have to be honest with each other: things didn’t go the way we thought. The judge didn’t ask Rita those many questions for impartiality, she was actually looking for a reason to shut our request down quickly, so I wouldn’t really rely on a victory. But,” the lawyer loaded that last word with energy and determination, “this cause is publicly discussed, which means they can’t step over our heads with impunity. One wrong step and people will manifest. And people are going to manifest. That’s why we need to stay focused.”
The gay bear felt a bit of encouragement from the inside of his beefy body, at those words, and a less heavy sense of guilt for leaving.
Regardless of our actions and our efforts, things just happen.
Or don’t happen.
The sun was pretty high, for a winter afternoon: not enough to get the air warmer, but still quite enjoyable.
Michael and his coffee were wandering around the office, frantically.
His mind was with his friends, as that was THE day, but he had to stay at work with his team. As his vice, Morgan did a phenomenal job, but he’s been absent too many times and as much as she never complained it, he gave her a spare week, so she could have had some well-deserved rest.
But it took very, very short for him, to understand how his presence wasn’t that useful and effective, there: after all, if his focus was on something else, someone else.
The bear was moving his eyes on a re-edited article when his phone rang: it was Foster.
“Everyone here, please stop doing what you’re doing! Foster’s calling, eyes on me!”
His heart was beating like crazy.
“Oh, hey!” he was so nervous, he couldn’t hide it: “Before you start sayin’ anything, you’re on speakerphone! Say Hi to the squad!”
“Nice surprise… Hello everyone,” Michael could already tell from Foster’s voice that something was not going very well, “Rita and I just got out, we’re coming there. So… Things went…” he took a deep breath, as he always does before saying something difficult, “Let’s say, things went as we expected, more or less… Which is not exactly what we hoped…”
A general sob received the bad news, the activist had to calm down everyone in the room.
“Please, Michael, can you… Can you turn this convo private? I don’t want to be a phone guest of Jimmy Kimmel.”
He blushed at those words, and immediately put the phone over his ear. “The guys and I were just impatient to know what happened. Sorry.”
Another deep breath from his interlocutor, before the answer: “Here’s what happened: our request has been rejected. Rita didn’t obtain Marco’s custody. But now there comes the swerve: the judge reported to have had several talks with the judge who’s following Lucinda’s case… And recently, with Lucinda herself. Therefore, Marco stays with the grandparents, but Rita can visit him.”
Michael threw his punch in the air, victoriously.
“It’s safe to say,” Foster wasn’t done talking, “something, or someone, made her change her mind. But as much as I wanna see the brighter side, it’s still too soon to celebrate: we asked for custody and we failed, we got the faculty for Rita to see the kid, but Lucy’s parents weren’t in court for the sentence and as for what we know, they may think she’s guilty and not trust her neighbor, either.”
Always a guarantee of turning off every enthusiasm.
“Yeah… Yeah, this is a concrete chance, unfortunately. See you later.”
He closed the call and turned his head to see his co-workers, waiting for answers.
“Let’s get back everyone to our work, no questions. You guys already managed to embarrass me, don’t you think?”
The winter Australian sky was so dark above, but Michael looked like he was shining of his own aura: he was outside of their workplace and about to meet Rita, again, and it was more than enough to make him smile, both inside and outside.
His eyes kept looking at the lights in Foster’s office, waiting for the moment they would have been shut down. This new, impatient side was making the gay bear feeling both excited and uncomfortable, he wasn’t gonna lie about it.
Somehow, dealing with this newly-found attraction for women was like dealing with a superpower.
Lights went off and his heart started to beat in his throat.
Infinite seconds later, the small, but echoed steps, growing more and more of intensity.
Foster and Rita were finally there, in front of him. “Thanks for waiting for us.”
The bear turned quickly to silently smile to his friend, before posing again his eyes on her. Michael couldn’t help, but notice how the dark was fitting her attitude.
“Don’t mention it. I’m sorry things didn’t go how we expected, but…”
He stopped talking, feeling hit by the woman’s eyes. “Sorry Michael,” Rita sounded so tired, “I’m so invested by a mix of emotions, and so physically and mentally overwhelmed by what happened today, even speaking out is exhausting. I, I just wanna go home… And have a drink… Maybe half a dozen of drinks… And go to sleep until tomorrow.”
She clearly wasn’t in a good mood, but he still wanted to propose to her a plan for the evening: “I totally feel you, Rita. Probably, I would take the same decision if I was in your shoes. But let’s be honest, tomorrow morning, you’re gonna feel no different than right now. Apart from needing a couple of aspirins for the headache.”
Her eyes were set on him, from the wall of her sadness. “So, what’s your offer?”
A shine of happiness showed on his face. “KFC dinner: no alcohol, but good quality jokes. How does it sound?”
Michael could feel warming inside when a shy smile showed on Rita’s upset face.
“I’m gonna take this answer for a yes, then!”
Was he too excited? Was that looking excessively suspicious?
“Coming with us, Foster?”
“I would love it, but I’m very, very tired. Plus,” the lawyer joked with her, “Rita has seen my ugly face enough for today, she couldn’t stand me any longer!”
“Stop it, you know your ugly faces are just what I’m most grateful for!” she nudged him playfully.
Foster looked at his pal. “Take care of our client, alright?”
Michael felt his legs shaking and his face going on fire. “Yeah… Yeah… Of course, I will!”
He would be such a terrible poker player…
The two opted to reach the fast food by walking.
It was definitely one of the best parts of working in that zone: close enough to every restaurant, far enough from gyms, or anything related to sports.
Michael felt like floating in the silence: he was so full of every range of emotions, that he resulted all bottled up and incapable of showing anything.
He closed his eyes for a second, organizing his thoughts. “Thanks for coming, Rita. I appreciate it, despite the not easy day you… I mean, we had.”
Rita answered with a silent, grateful smile.
The bear smiled back, but he had to admit that interacting was so much harder than expected.
From an apartment, they could hear a song playing loud. Rita recognized it, as she began to mumble and sing along.
“Ella es curiosa, una nena estudiosa…”
“So… Latin pop is your bop!?”
She didn’t answer, at first, but she was about to say something, as she slowed down till her feet stopped. Michael stopped as well, looking at her.
“This is one of Marco’s favorite songs. Me and Lucy played it countless times, whenever it was the three of us…”
He felt powerless, at her words.
Michael approached Rita, trying to comfort her, and the woman felt more than twenty years of fatigue, overtaking her.
he physical and emotional effort, all those years, of showing a strength she never really had.
Pretending to be a warrior, somehow… But she was just a human being.
A human being, needing to show itself, to another human being.
Rita just hugged Michael; it was the right thing to do for herself.
Person to person.
Human being to human being.
She was all wrapped around him, like a koala. Every inch of her was dangerously close to him; such a tempting situation, but he had to stop his primal instincts.
He was still a human being, after all.
Michael’s inner dilemma had to take a break when the bear felt Rita’s head bumping irregularly on his chest: she was crying.
She was giving him her desperation and her fragility, so he hugged her back, protecting her feelings. If he only could heal her with his words.
“You’re gonna be fine… You’re all gonna be fine… I know today we lost, but we’re gonna keep pushing and doing everything in our power. You matter so much to us… You matter so much to me, Rita… So much…”
His eyes wouldn’t have gone anywhere else than her head finding refuge on his pulsating heart. It took a while before the woman could actually realize what he really said, as she slowly moved her sight up to him.
At first hesitant, then Rita just stared at the bearded man, waiting for any reaction.
That was a signal… Was it?
Their blood was on fire, but it still wasn’t enough for either of them.
Rita’s eyes were slowly losing the glow. “Sorry Michael… I thought… But it would be crazy, right?”
“…What do you mean?”
She took his hands, smiling sadly. “I thought something was gonna happen… But it would be close to impossible…”
How long could he have been kept ignoring his sensations?
Their hands were still locked together, Michael delicately pulled Rita close to him.
Close enough for their lips to meet, for the first time.
“Sure about that?”
He leaned in, regular straight agenda.
It may have lasted only few seconds, but kissing the woman he’d been craving for so long, felt like forever.
He cupped his hands on her cheeks and their tongues met to play together.
She was tasting so good, in his formerly gay mouth!
Lips took apart only to rejoin in small, but meaningful kisses. Just like a break, before getting busy again, making out.
Michael was over the stars, he felt burning inside for the lust eating him alive.
It was more than the sole satisfaction for kissing a woman, so much more than that: it was about lust, all about his lust for the woman who made him realize he wasn’t happy anymore, he wasn’t himself anymore, and a radical change was needed.
“My place?” The man heard himself saying those words from his hungry bearded lips.
She nodded affirmatively.
A glimpse of joy appeared on his face. “This way.”
Silence fell over the two of them walking hand in hand to his apartment.
Their carnal desire was talking loud enough…
Michael felt his heart bumping heavier than a volcanic eruption when they arrived under his place. Maybe she was feeling the same?
Ok, what now? Right, the keys.
Yeah… The keys…
Where are they now? Oh, it’s fine! Just looked in the wrong pocket!
He was nervous and impatient, he looked again for her hand, only to find it cold, which caused a quick as he turned to Rita. “Are you okay?”
The woman looked upset, again. “I… I need to know, Michael… Are we doing this because you actually have something, or because you want to experiment? Cause I’m not here to judge anyone, but I don’t want to be anyone’s experiment.”
His heart broke in a million pieces; she must have suffered a lot.
Michael took courage and spoke again, her head in his hands, “I don’t do science projects since school, and I really sucked, really really bad… I could never think of you as an experiment, never. All I think of is how fucking beautiful you look like now.”
The bear kissed Rita, again. He could feel her hands on his waists and his back.
“I’m not gonna betray you…” Those were his last words before losing himself in the ocean of sexual hunger.
The door opened, Rita and Michael got inside very quickly before it could close behind their kisses.
TO BE CONTINUED