The Other Side of Unhappy by Kailee Reese Samuels

Author:Kailee Reese Samuels [Samuels, Kailee Reese]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781954477056
Publisher: The Sugargrove Book Company
Published: 2021-06-21T16:00:00+00:00

29

Golden Apples

The following day is cloudy, gloomy, and gray—sullen with almost a chill in the air—as we run cross-country-style through the damp grass.

With every footfall, moisture droplets flick, clinging against my shins. I’m soaked below the waist, and I imagine so is he. We wind around his heavily wooded lot, our pace increasing as the forest enshrouds us.

We’re in the deep woods where brown recluse lurk under logs and poison ivy grows like tinsel dangling on Christmas trees. The way my Aunt Rosa used to do it back in the eighties, back when I was young. The damn thing looked like something from outer space—a tinfoil-covered tree. We could’ve hooked it up and attempted to contact aliens, but we wouldn’t have understood their language.

Much like I struggle with his.

I’m lost in his labyrinth, caught up in the maze of desire, seeking his flesh like I never have another and likely never will again. He is magnificently attuned to seek out my vibration and complement me in ways I never dreamed.

But can we make this last forever?

I don’t know.

His mind is a puzzling experience, and I could spend the rest of my life with a flashlight in tow, exploring all the dusty, recessed corners where he has memories stashed. I could be an explorer. I could be the curator of Sal’s mind, safeguarding his emotions and protecting the forgotten relics.

I prohibit trespassers.

I guard the gate.

And maybe it’s been far too long since he’s kept a guardian in the watchtower.

I understand many things, but what I’ve yet to ascertain is the very first fundamental step—my stumbling block of sorts—directly out the stall. The mating ritual of how he begins and I end, when do I take over, and when does he give in—so readily—the rules of engagement, flirtation, and courtship in the homosexual male.

They’re in fine, undecipherable print at the top of the page. And if I cannot get those basics down—I lose the moment the door opens to the racetrack.

He rushes past me, doing the laps like a prized stallion, while I sit in the metal cage—the starting gate—unable to sign the consent form that this could kill me. That there are inherent dangers in engaging in such activity. And I’m not glitching on the physiological ones with Sal; those are the least of my worries.

The emotional conundrum is terrorizing—crippling like a hit of numbing medication jabbed into my glute and sedating me quickly. I fall into a daze, tongue hanging out and big googly eyes, not even comprehending that he is seeking me that way—like a man needing another man.

I do not understand his language.

I can speak it just fine, but my comprehension scores are deplorable.

I hiccup on basic dating 101 with a man.

Cancel that—I am failing the goddamned course, and I know it.

I perform, drawing what I know from the previous het-experience, but the outlines have washed up on the shores, and the ink is faded, smearing in my palms like his cum from the night before. The outlines—the

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