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Yeah, things got weird for Jeremy and I.

By the next day after our adventure, I was starting to mentally backpedal. Okay, so no big deal… we were just messing around and took things too far. Yeah. That was it. I’d never done anything like that, so I’m not gay. Right? C’mon, I have a great wife, a great life, and that’s not me. Really.

Really.

So, I set out to prove to myself that the whole “Jeremy thing” was just a bit of craziness.

First step: to prove all that was just stupid fun taken too far, I put some serious moves on my wife. And over the next few days I had more sex with her than at any time since our honeymoon. And I pushed things, too. I really wanted to… I dunno, let loose, I guess. She was okay with things for a bit, but by day three was kinda “whoa there, tiger.” Thus ended that experiment.

Next, I threw myself into working out at the gym. At first I was terrified that I might sport some wood seeing naked guys in the showers, but I had to test myself. Things kinda went okay, I guess… I about wore myself out on endless, repeated reps to the point that my muscles howled in protest. As it turned out, I wasn’t really drawn to the naked bodies showering around me… which was a bit of a relief. Not exactly. But I guess I did… notice… their bodies more. In particular, I was aware of just how many guys seemed to be making themselves… smooth. I get it, it makes your definition stand out more. But it seemed so… artificial. And not nearly as masculine as Jeremy’s….

Nope. Not bringing Jeremy into this. More reps. Harder.

And over the next few weeks, I became incredibly deferential towards my wife. Quietly trying to make up for a betrayal she knew nothing about. God, I was probably crossing over into obsequiousness. I boldly took over cooking duties during the weekdays, and did nearly all the cleanup, too. I pitched in for all kinds of quality time together. I suggested we watch a Jane Austen miniseries. Insisted on doing errands for her the minute she casually mentioned them. Hell, my whole language started shifting, like I was her knight-in-shining-armor-bodyguard protecting her from the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Jesus. She seemed appreciative; but as I think about it, after a couple of weeks she must have started wondering if she had secretly been diagnosed with cancer or something.

Mostly, I was just trying to stay busy–physically and mentally–in an attempt to completely block any thought of Jeremy. I was convinced that that was healthier, and safer. With time, it seemed to work. My overall freakout kinda started to subside a bit. Days turned into weeks.

But it was all… so stupid. I mean, holy hell–I was fooling myself. And I knew it. My body knew it. My innermost mind knew it.

And it was only a matter of time before things started bubbling up in unexpected ways. After a few weeks, I found myself getting more… I dunno, irritable. Frustrated over the stupidest things. Frustrated…? Yeah, frustrated. At… stuff. All kinds of stuff. At work. At home. Unwinding. Working out. Living.

At the same time, I remember having… well, I wouldn’t call them nightmares, but just… really intense, really frustrating dreams. And they included Jeremy. The person I wasn’t letting myself think about.

And that had ballooned into a huge, awkward, silent mess. I just couldn’t bring myself to respond to his last message, that stupid “hey man” message that had greeted me when I got home from his place. Nothing. Pure radio silence. It was easier that way; I couldn’t think what to say. And I was more than a little afraid of what he might say. It started with me being paralyzed about thinking what to say to him. Thinking about how I explain my actions… how to justify my actions. But the longer I ran away from my thoughts, the easier it was to keep running. And soon, the paralyzed silence took on a life of its own, having stretched on so long that now I needed not only to apologize for my actions, but for not saying anything to him.

Shit.

My wife had certainly noticed my Jekyll-and-Hide approach to her–insisting on spending time together, but getting testy about it. Then one evening she asked the innocuous question, “Hey honey, why don’t you ever get together with Jeremy anymore? It’s been a couple months at least. You always came back energized whenever you hung out. It was fun watching you guys together. And you’ve been in a funk like the past month. Maybe you should blow off some steam together.”

Oh… fuck. Oh God-forsaken-holy-fuck.

She could not have thrown a bigger bomb into my life.

But her words…? I think at that point I think it hit me–all these past few weeks, I absolutely wasn’t being… me. I wasn’t being fair to myself. And in doing so, I was not being fair–could not be fair–to anyone else around me.

But what could I say? What should I say?

I punted. “Oh, well… I think I told you he started seeing this new girl Stacey? Yeah, well… that’s Antalya travesti been taking up more and more of his time. You know how guys are when they fall for someone. I don’t want to bother him. I mean, he doesn’t want to spend time with a big, hulking goober like me when he can have uninterrupted quality time with a petite little cutie with a nice rack.”

She snapped me with the dishtowel. “Don’t talk about women like they’re slabs of meat–especially your best friend’s girlfriend. And anyway, why are guys always so stunted? You’re allowed to want to have friends and spend time with them. Just call him already.” She gave me an epic eye roll before ending in a huff. “Honestly… men.”

“But… men don’t… call each other….” I started to whine.

“MEN.”

I disengaged, and went into the next room to sulk with a beer and some video games.

Her words were a double-edged sword. I mean, in the abstract, she was 100% right. Well, we both were. I mean, guys don’t just call each other up, but we’re idiots for not doing so. How many other male friendships of mine had cooled because we were too… well, cool… to keep up with each other?

But… this thing with Jeremy and I was obviously a completely different situation. I mean, we did stuff. Stuff that guys don’t do together. He had been… inside me. And the reverse. Guys don’t do that. Guys with women on their arms really don’t do that. That broke the Guy Code. A truth so universal and terrible that I had been running away from it like a maniac.

But then again… shit. It wasn’t all that different at all. Sex aside, I missed my friend.

I missed my friend.

And that single, stupid thought broke through a mountain’s worth of bullshit.

I missed Jeremy.

That night, and all the next day, Jeremy seeped back into my thoughts. And I let it happen. Memories buoyed me. It was all so… complicated. Memories. Bike rides and conversations. Beers and trash talking. Adrenaline and sweat. And… well, adrenaline and… sweat.

And they had been some of the best times of my life.

The thoughts swirled around inside me. Until finally I had enough.

The next day, I stopped by his bike shop on my way home from work.

I walked in and was immediately greeted by Hector, one of the guys who helped Jeremy move in that fateful day months ago. “Hey man!” he said. He ran over and gave me an appropriate bro-greeting.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good man, you?”

We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes until I mentioned I was driving by and wanted to check in with Jeremy. Hector pointed him out, saying he had been helping a father-son couple but it looked like things were wrapping up.

I looked over. Yeah… there he was.

Damn.

He was….

Damn.

He… he had this magnetism that sucked you in, like he was a carnival barker. He was squatted down, eye-to-eye with the kid and filling his mind with ideas of freedom, adventures. The dad was grinning like a fool, all but lost in his own memories of bike rides past. Sharing a moment with his son as Jeremy got them both riled up.

It’s so funny that my first impression of Jeremy was that he was the stoic, strong-and-silent type. And yes, he was always on the quiet side. But you put him in a situation where he was comfortable, with a chance to talk about something he was passionate about, and he just came alive. Energy. Power. Life. We were all feeling it. He made that kid feel like he was king of the world, buying some Lamborghini. The boy was eating it up, in full hero-worship mode.

And to be honest, I wasn’t too far behind.

It was only when everything was finished did Jeremy slow down and come back to reality… and see me.

The change was abrupt. Jeremy’s stoic visage slammed down again. His defenses were back up. Wary… just like he was around his family. Around his dad. And seeing that change in him, knowing I triggered it, hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Hey man,” was all I could muster up.

“Hey,” he responded neutrally.

And I suddenly realized just how badly I needed back my buddy, in all his vital, energetic glory.

I approached him. “Jeremy. Bud. Look, I’m… I’m sorry.” I fell into full babble mode. “I’m… sorry about everything. I’m fucking sorry about all the bullshit. I should’ve gotten back to you right away when I got your message. I can’t believe I left you hanging like that. I’m stupid. Fucking stupid.” At this point it hit me that we were in public; looking around, I lowered my voice to a hissed whisper and went on. “Sorry man. I’m sorry. I should’ve reached out to you before. Should have answered you. Talked to you. But I’m… doing it now.”

Jeremy just stood there, taking in my gush of words with an indistinct expression on his face that had me in a panic. Silent. Looking me over. I wasn’t sure how I could hyperventilate while not breathing, but somehow I was managing it.

Finally, a wry half-smile flickered Antalya travestileri across his face. “You know,” he intoned with zero expression whatsoever, “It takes a special kind of idiot to not just hit ‘reply’ instead of coming all the way over here in person.”

I unclenched. I mean, yes, he just burned me… but his burn was surprisingly mild, generic, and tossed off with a mere pro forma delivery. It was the kind of dig that guys tossed between buddies as part of daily operations. I smiled, starting to think we could be okay.

“I never claimed to be the brightest lightbulb in the marquee.” Jeremy full on smirked.

I looked around to be sure no one was close by. “Seriously, Jeremy. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I didn’t mean to blow you off, but… well, I was going to talk to you, chickened out a bunch of times, then panicked because I waited too long. Truth is… there was so much to say, but didn’t even know where to start.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said wistfully, also looking around. The hard, implacable mask started to dissolve as he went on. “I get it. Truth is, I could’ve tried to get back to you, too… but it was hard. And… complicated.”

We stood in silence for a moment. It wasn’t… comfortable… but it didn’t feel oppressive.

Jeremy quietly asked, “So… why here…? Why… now…?”

I looked down. “I finally couldn’t live with myself any more, being a jackass. Leaving things hanging. And…” my words were hushed, almost as if they were afraid to leave my mouth. “And… I… um… missed you. Missed… my bud. You know….”

Jeremy gave his half-smile and looked down too. One foot shuffled. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Another pause. This one was a little more… full. As if we had too much to say to each other. Because… we did.

“Hey man,” I broke the silence. “Could we… like… go somewhere? Else? Maybe grab a beer and… you know, talk? Maybe after work?”

Jeremy considered, but I could see the answer in his head. “I wish I could… I’m going out with Stacey tonight. We’ve been… serious… the last month or so.” His inflection spoke volumes, and deflated me a bit.

“Ah. Got it. Yeah. Well… maybe another time.” Another pause.

“Hey, you know… the weather is supposed to be great this weekend. You wanna go for a ride? Maybe take the Green Line to Lake Keller?”

“Yeah. Just the guys, like old times?”

Jeremy smirked. “Like old times, but looking at you, you’re gonna need to train hardcore to keep up with me. Wuss.”

“Jackass.”

“Cunt spray.”

“Eh, go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.”

Yeah… I think we were going to be okay.

The weekend came, and the ride itself was great… a much-needed tonic for the soul. The Green Line was an abandoned railroad track that had been repurposed into a bike trail. You could take it for… well, hundreds of miles, really. We just had a tradition of biking out to Lake Keller, one of the stops a goodly ride away.

And so we rode. It’s funny. Male conversation goes best when it’s lubricated with action. Doing something, from playing cards, to working on a car just makes it better. Easier. And repeated action best of all. Physical activity can become its own mantra, clearing the mind.

And so it was that day. Over that morning, Jeremy… talked again. We didn’t have the talk–that was still way too dangerous, awkward, and very much off limits. When conversation even gently veered in that general direction, things got dangerously quiet and we shut it down fast. But we caught up with each other and fell back into the spirit of our friendship. Excited to have each other back. It was funny… I didn’t realize guys… well, missed their buddies like that. But I had.

But of course, Jeremy was… more… than a buddy.

But we just couldn’t go there.

Even as we instinctively avoided the topic, it was still very much an elephant in the room as we renewed our friendship. Over the next few weeks, we got together a couple of times, never at one of our places. I accepted that’s kinda how it had to be, but hoped that things would change.

Change.

But change into… what?

We both had worked to recommit to the women in our lives, and I have to say things were going well on that front. But for all that, Jeremy–maybe more specifically, the memories with Jeremy–continued to bubble up in my mind. Unbidden, and in odd ways. Like, springing from bits of music playing somewhere, or from the sound of a guy with a similar laugh. I could usually shake them off. I had to, as I didn’t want to disrupt our hard-fought equilibrium. No use dwelling on what could never be.

After a time, our experience seemed to fade into a dream… I wasn’t sure myself what had really gone down.

I was pleasantly surprised one day to get an invitation from him to watch the Monday night game at his place. He remarked, “I have some serious money riding on this, so… no distractions.” He said it playfully, but I Travesti antalya got the message.

Come Monday, I ran over to his place as soon as I could. And boy howdy, I was ready to cut loose. Work had been tough, and my wife thought any kind of “sportsball” was just plain silly, making it hard for me to fully wallow in it. I needed a break. I needed man time.

Jeremy picked up a shit-ton of Chinese food on the way home from his work, so we essentially got to his place at the same time. He unlocked the door and kicked it open, balancing a hundred different food containers in two armfuls of bags. He walked in and set everything on the bar-counter that served as his kitchen table, and separated the kitchen from the rest of his studio apartment.

I took his place in.

It had changed a lot since I had been there last, on his memorable move-in. Clearly his girl Stacey had helped decorate, but it was just as clearly a man’s bachelor pad. Big ol’ athletic shoes kicked off right inside the door, along with a indistinct shape of a bag holding his gear. His free weights in the corner. A ball ready to grab. Beer bottles in the window sill. Even an obligatory neon sign.

But what hit me the most walking in was… the scent. And I mean that in a good way. There wasn’t a rancid stink to the place, just the unmistakable smell of… male. I was surprised how hard it hit me. Complex, and made of all kinds of typical masculine sources, trapped in that apartment with so little air. The hanging scent of sandalwood. Black coffee and bourbon. A half-used bag of charcoal in the corner. His gear from the gym, with traces of sweat. The “sports” deodorant he used. Bike chain oil.

And… through it all, Jeremy.

The smell of Jeremy, deep and everywhere. Like a wolf’s den, but for a human. Layers upon layers of smells in the air, holdovers from when he worked out, jerked off, ate, slept, and dreamed about… whatever it was he dreamed about. A smell of raw, undiluted masculinity.

The scent was instantly unlocking memories. Memories that I had worked hard to put away. Memories of his sweat, mixed with mine. His cum… mixed with mine. Him. Jeremy. Close. Closer than close. Next to me. Pressed against me. Inside me. Oh fuck. My pulse started racing.

Jeremy was oblivious. He set everything down on the counter and walked over to his dresser, fishing out something casual to change into. Saying something that I wasn’t even remotely paying attention to. While talking, he just started flipping his shirt off over his head… then suddenly stopped. He looked at me with a somewhat queasy look.

Ah. Oh yeah. See, something I knew about Jeremy, which I had never really thought about much before, was the fact that when he got home and was ready to unwind, he often changed into a T-shirt and some gym shorts–going commando underneath. It had never been an issue before, but it hit me that here in his studio apartment with no real side rooms, he was going to have to strip down right in full view of me.

And I realized that elephant in the room was very much alive and well.

Jeremy flinched, nervous about stripping naked and what kind of message that was going to send.

I don’t know that he was wrong to be worried… my body was responding in ways I could not control, despite my vow for no “funny stuff.” I was desperately trying to keep myself from tenting my pants, trying to think of anything to distract me.

Damn. Double damn.

Every part of my body was….

No. NO.

I casually turned away, and as lightly as I could manage, asked him, “Hey man, can I use the john? It’s been a long day.” The energy roiling my innards dissipated slightly, as I shut myself inside and gave him the privacy he clearly needed. Fuck. He looked so fucking good. Shit. C’mon Trevor, think of something, anything to break the spell, like… dogs taking a shit. Babies spitting up. My mom’s sex face. Hell, my grandma’s sex face. FUCK. This was going to be a long night.

A few minutes later I heard Jeremy just as cheerfully announce that he was going to set out the food. I flushed the toilet for a bit of cover. I walked out gingerly, readjusting myself and doublechecking to see if he was around. Mercifully, he was in the kitchen, the one part of the apartment where he was essentially hidden. He was chattering away about something. I wasn’t listening.

Walking around his bed, I came up short. There was that staple of male home furnishing–a pile of dirty laundry sitting right out in the open. But looking at it, my heart fell into my feet. His dirty clothes pile. His. And right there on top, the outfit he had just been wearing, that he had just changed out of. Shit. Shitshitshitshit.

I looked over, and still couldn’t see Jeremy. There were sounds of dishes being set out. I looked down again… shit SHIT. It was right there. His pair of boxer briefs. Right there. Oh FUUUUUUUUCK. My heart was pounding, fucking POUNDING. Shit. I couldn’t… that was… SHIT. Oh fuck NO Trevor. NO!

Yes.

My hands were trembling. It was all so wrong. Totally wrong. Shit, I was probably violating my best bud. But at that moment, I fucking did not care. I grabbed his Jockeys. Fuck. Still warm. With a last look over towards the kitchen, I brought them to my face.

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