I have to get out of here.
Now.
As I walk through the opulent rooms of the lavish Terenberg Castle, I pull my phone out of my pants pocket with trembling fingers. As wonderful as the historic building is, its magnificence is lost on me at this precise moment.
Right now, coming to the castle feels like a mistake. A huge mistake. A mistake that I’ll probably regret all my life.
I feel like crying. But I’m not going to cry here, and I’m not going to cry now. I force my steps to slow. The looks I got when I left the ballroom were wry enough without me fleeing in floods of tears like a spurned Cinderella.
After I danced with my ex … After I stroked his cheek … After I kissed his hand …
God, the shame.
What was I thinking?
Not only was the hand-kissing thing totally outdated and awkward, but it was clear from the outset that Frederick was humoring me. He didn’t really want to dance. He didn’t want my touch. He wasn’t into anything I did tonight. No—he isn’t into me. Not anymore. He only has eyes for that huge, but undeniably gorgeous, hunk he was hanging out with all night. And from the looks said hunk was giving me when I asked Frederick to dance, the attraction was more than mutual.
What did I think Frederick was going to do, renounce his new love and run off with me into the sunset?
What an idiot I am.
Frederick has moved on.
He’s not mine anymore.
A sob threatens to escape, and I bite my tongue hard to trap it before it spills out of my mouth.
The kiss, the dance, the fact that I flew to Terengia at all—all of it was pointless. Just another example of the bad habit of not reading the room that I never seem to have grown out of. My free hand wanders unconsciously to my nose—a nose that’s so far been broken three times—because, Doctorate or not, I’m not smart.
There’s no doubt that Frederick’s new friend—Liam, was it?—could have done me some serious damage, so leaving when I did was probably my smartest move to date. Not that it stopped my ego or my heart coming away unscathed from the ballroom.
Why do I put myself at risk all the time? And why is it almost always over a man? Take my first boyfriend when we were still at school. Unlike me, he couldn’t or wouldn’t hide that he was gay. And back then, being gay was not universally accepted, especially at school. One day, some of the school bullies decided it was time to teach the “faggot” a lesson. I got between them and him—and got my nose broken for the first time.
I didn’t regret it. Although, it was a bit of a violent and spontaneous way to come out, and meant the rest of my school days weren’t exactly plain sailing either. My parents weren’t the problem, but the stupid bullies weren’t the only homophobes at my school. Many of the teachers thought the same way the bullies did; they just never said anything out loud. None of them went out of their way to support us, and the math teacher in particular was damn good at looking the other way.
As for the other times when my nose has served as a punch bag … I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s just say I’m amazed I don’t look like a heavyweight boxer by now.
Reflecting on my violent past isn’t going to help me tonight, though.
I have to get out of here. There’s no doubt about it.
The centuries-old walls of the baroque palace I’m passing through may have seen many things, but I’m not sure they’ve witnessed a man desperately fumbling with his phone so he could open Grindr. In my defense, having sex is my go-to strategy to de-stress, and to say I’m stressed would be the understatement of the year.
As I step into my cozy room in the guest wing of the castle, I scroll through the images that the app suggests. I’m in the bathroom swiping my things from the counter into my toiletry bag before one particular image grabs my attention.
The user is online.
I type quickly with one hand:
Me: Do you want to fuck me?
With the other, I throw my toilet bag into the backpack I brought with me when I traveled to Terengia this morning. Whatever answer I get, I’m not staying here. The thought of trying to stay cool while I share breakfast with Frederick and his—whatever he is—tomorrow morning is sending me into meltdown already. No, I’ll make my own way home. And that suits me just fine.
I was very independent from a very early age, by necessity rather than choice. My parents were both absolute workaholics—they still are to this day. They had little spare time to nurture a child, and when I grew and proved I could manage quite well on my own, they left me to it. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time.
These kinds of thoughts are doing me no good either. It’s no use digging into the past. What’s done is done. It’s better to look ahead.
Although, I’m not exactly sure what my future holds now.
Thank god it’s Saturday.
That means I have three whole days off ahead of me without any obligations. I’ve got nothing planned for tonight, so it’s that time again.
My cock twitches joyfully in my gray sweatpants—looks like we’re both looking forward to what’s about to go down tonight—literally. It’s been far too long since I last allowed myself to even nibble a man, and the thought of doing more makes a dark spot form where my dick’s throbbing head oozes precum into the fabric. I resist the temptation to grab my cock and rub one out. I have to make do with my hand often enough, so today … Today, I want the real thing, and I’ll enjoy the anticipation until I do—even if it drives me mad.
I open the app and let my gaze glide over the delicious images in front of me. It’s like a buffet—a buffet piled high with perfect male specimens. I’ve only swiped past a couple of images before a notification pops up.
That was fast.
I read the message. It’s short and very sweet:
SexyDoc561: Do you want to fuck me?
I want to fuck somebody, so why not you? I think.
Still, I take a moment because I have a whole evening to savor, and I don’t have to take the first man that throws himself at me. My curiosity wins out, though, and I click on the profile.
A photo pops up that’s so brazen, a surprised groan rolls out of my throat. Unlike the rather crude selfie I use as a profile pic, this looks almost professional. It’s a stylish black and white shot of a well-rounded, tight butt thrust towards the camera. Excitedly, I zoom into the picture.
I glimpse a peek of a bulging sack between slightly spread legs, and my breath hitches. I lick my lips excitedly, and with a rapidly beating heart, I zoom in a little more.
Is that …? Can I …?
Yes, I’m certain I can see a tantalizing little hole, too.
Hot damn! That ass is definitely fuckable.
With swift swipes, I type:
Me: If that’s your real ass in the profile pic, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Within seconds, a notification pops up—a broadly grinning smiley. Before I can react, a message follows:
SexyDoc561: I’ll prove it’s my butt, if you keep your end of the bargain.
Holy shit! Yes, please.
My fingers are typing my address before the words even register in my brain. There’s always a risk inviting a stranger over to my apartment, but as a police officer, I’m better equipped than most to deal with any problems.
SexyDoc561: I’m calling a cab right now. Be with you in ten minutes.
Eight minutes later, I’m ringing the doorbell of number 25 in a featureless apartment block. Even with my limited architectural knowledge, I can tell the apartment block was built in the seventies, it’s that bad. I don’t have time to contemplate the boring straight lines and tiny windows of the bland building because a pleasantly deep, if distorted, voice booms over the intercom.
“Third floor.”
It’s followed immediately by the buzzer. It seems that, like our entire interaction so far, neither of us are messing around. Perfect!
I’m way too antsy to stand still, so I ignore the elevator and, taking two steps at a time, shoot up the stairs. I step onto the third floor and can see a door along the corridor is standing open. As I walk toward it, a figure moves from inside to fill the opening. The guy is tall with short-cropped light brown hair, and he’s wearing gray sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. He must be ten years younger than me, and is slim but muscular. His eyes dance with interest.
Without a word, I let my hand brush up his neck and draw his tantalizingly full lips to mine. He stiffens only briefly in surprise before pulling me into his apartment without our lips parting. When the lock clicks behind us, all inhibitions fall away. His lips open and before I have the chance to slip my tongue into his mouth, he beats me to it. His tongue explores my mouth, demanding more.
I came here to forget, and this wild kiss is making it happen. Any clear thoughts I had moments ago are gone. This couldn’t be more perfect.
When we’re forced to come up for air before one of us passes out, I lay my forehead against his, panting. There is no doubt in my mind that this man is going to fulfill every single one of my needs over the next few hours.
Then with the sweet taste of this stranger still in my mouth, I grin broadly at him.
“Hi, I’m Jean,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”