First Drafts is a sorta-new series I'm starting where I post the first draft of a premise and see if it sticks. Thank you for reading these rough drafts. Any and all notes are welcome.
~~~
Like JPEGMAFIA once sang, “Jesus forgive me, I’m a thot.”
I don’t yearn for companionship often, but I do love attention. It’s the only reason I still use dating apps. I log on bi-weekly or when I’m in a new part of town and await a lover of bears or black men to strike up a conversation - or more realistically they “woof” or “flame” me. It’s amazing to realize queer men are keeping the legacy of the “Facebook poke” alive.
~~~
The breeze jostles the flowers decorating a small garden in a northern California backyard balancing out the blazing sun and allowing for a pleasant day to relax, away from the stress of renovating the kitchen. The hammock swaddles Nathan as his husband paces inside and consults on the phone with a contractor about a missing part. His white skin reflects the sun as he plays with his slight but evident bulging belly. Being an aging twink never occurred to him until now. He had no one else to compare himself to, his husband always joking that they looked like the number 10 side by side. However, since moving coast to coast, they were more like the number 100, having recently added a second bear to their relationship. Javier started out as a friendly tour guide, but Nathan and Pete’s open relationship was all but too inviting. Investing in a king size bed was wise for sleepovers.
Using his phone to block the sun, Nathan checks to see if Javier responded yet. Nothing. It’s not surprising, he thinks, Javier’s a horrible texter. Bored, he opens Scruff; the same boring grid of San Fran gays stare back at him. Yearning for something different, he taps on his saved favorites. Then he sees a familiar profile, the green circle in the lower right hand corner. He taps it and sends a “woof.” As he waits the three hour time difference, Nathan reminisces.
It was a regular Saturday night. He was out running an errand when Pete texted him, “Come home, I have a surprise for you.” Like a Sim, Nathan canceled every other command and returned to his husband immediately. The house was quiet, only the kitchen light turned on. Their special bourbon for guests sat on the kitchen island. He peeked through the kitchen window into the backyard and saw Pete talking with a black man somewhere between their builds. The profile seemed so familiar, but it wasn’t until he turned his head to laugh that Nathan recognized him as Terry: the handsome neighbor he had been flirting with the last six months but was too timid to invite over. Simultaneously, he grew excited at his husband taking charge and the opportunity to finally enjoy a man of his dreams.
Spying Nathan through the window, Pete winked at him and motioned his head toward the bedroom. Ever responsive, Nathan ran upstairs and prepared himself. Within minutes, he was joined by his husband and Terry. They stripped and their bodies merged together, each husband eager to be fucked by their guest. It became clear to Nathan that Terry was mostly there for him, especially as they passionately grinded against each other and came together. His partner hid his disposition well by offering to get the towel. Months later, the two of them sold the house in Baltimore to pursue a job opportunity for Pete.
“Hey handsome,” Terry responds. “Long time.”
Nathan smiles. “I know. You look bigger.”
“The pandemic treated my frame well. I’m a proper bear now.”
“Good. I love being mauled.”
Terry laughs. “I bet you do. Tryna add me to your collection.”
“I’m sure you’ll be the one in charge.” The two continue to flirt as Nathan checks inside the house. Pete is still frustrated on the phone.
~~~
I can’t take my eyes off my phone. Every time I respond, he replies with something hornier, nastier, more perverted. I love it. Suddenly I have my keys in my hand, shoes on my feet. I walk towards the door. I check his profile again. 2437 miles, I’m already closer to him. The lengths queers will go to for connection is astonishing.
