Fighting Myself: A Queer MMA Romance by Shae Michaels

Author:Shae Michaels [Michaels, Shae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Emmit

I felt stupid. And embarrassed. And strangely reassured.

The first two were nothing new for me. I spent a large portion of my life experiencing some level of both of those emotions. But that last one...that one was newer. And it was all directly caused by the man wrapped around me and holding me in his arms.

After I’d gone home from work, all my mind kept doing was replaying, over and over, the moment where those two men had walked in and found Alfie and I kissing each other. It had always been dumb and reckless, kissing Alfie anywhere at the gym. It seemed like there were always people around—although, we did seem to be the only people in the building right now—so there had always been a high probability that we would be discovered sooner or later. It’s just that...it hadn’t really occurred to me, or sunk in, until it had actually happened.

And then, when it finally did, all I could think of was everyone else finding out. Not that I thought that anyone I knew would be upset about finding out that I was, apparently, in a relationship with a man. No. All I could think of was how unsurprised they’d be. I could practically see it and hear it—the knowing looks, the teasing comments, the flood of we-told-you-so’s. And it was that—the realization that I’d been so wrong about myself, for so long, and the happily smug attitudes of Park and my siblings once they finally got the confirmation that they’d been right—that had sent me into a downward panic spiral.

So, naturally, I’d leapt onto my first instinct. Which was to deny, deny, deny and call things off with Alfie. Before I fell even further into a situation I didn’t actually want to get out of.

Thankfully, I’d lucked out, in that the guy I was so quickly falling for had blatantly refused to let me get away with pulling such a chickenshit move.

Still, despite his assurances, I couldn’t help but be worried about the whole sex aspect of being in a relationship with a man. With so many queer siblings, who’d refused to let my parents give me the obligatory sex talk when I was a teenager—and hadn’t that been a fun afternoon of TMI about my older siblings’ preferences—I was perhaps more informed about the, no pun intended, ins and outs of gay sex than the average straight person. But Alfie was the only man I’d ever done anything even remotely sexual with and all we’d done so far is kiss. And a decent amount of grinding and dry humping with all our clothes on.

I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve done so far. To a ridiculous degree, really. However, that didn’t mean I’d enjoy doing anything more than that. And I wasn’t idealistic enough to think that sex—good sex, enjoyable sex—didn’t play a key component in a successful relationship. At least, unless both of the people involved were uninterested in sex. And while I’d never been overwhelmingly impressed with sex, that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

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