New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 4

There is an order to things.

　For example, milk tea. You brew milk into strong black tea, then add sugar. From a chemical point of view, if you add sugar first, it will dissolve better in the hot black tea than if you add sugar to black tea that has become lukewarm from the milk. However, the official procedure is to add milk first, and it seems to be bad manners to do it the other way around.

　Something similar to this can also be seen in human relationships, as exemplified by a line my mother often says: “There’s an order to things.”

“If you find a girl you like, please introduce her to my mom. Don’t make the mistake of having a baby first.”

　The “order of things in human relationships” maintained by our mothers’ generation can be simply written as follows:

　　　　1: Watch a movie together

　　　　　　　　↓

　　　　2: Kiss

　　　　　　　　↓

　　　　3: Share a bank account

　　　　　　　　↓

　　　　4. Sharing a bed

　　　　　　　　↓

　　　　5: Sharing the Grave

　In recent years, many people skip steps 1 to 3 and start with step 4, but at the moment, I am in the middle of taking this traditional step-by-step. The name of my “favourite boy” is Paul Copeland. He is my same-s*x lover whom I have not yet introduced to my mother, and who I cannot have a baby with, no matter what.

　Since we were just friends, we had already experienced “1: Watching a movie together” by that time. “2: Kissing” is now a regular part of our lives. We kiss each other in the morning before going to work, kiss each other goodnight before going to bed, and then disappear into each other’s bedrooms. —Yes, that’s the step we’ve taken so far. We haven’t progressed beyond that yet. Paul and I are 28 years old. That’s the age when we can have s*x responsibly without embarrassing anyone. It’s been almost three months since we started dating. Neither Paul nor I is particularly shy, and as for me, this is the first time I’ve been “without physical contact with my partner” for such a long time. The reason why it’s taking so long is related to the fact that I’m “not gay.”

　–Dean Kelly is not gay. He is not gay, but he has a boyfriend.–

　Leaving aside the debate over whether there is a contradiction there, I have never felt sexual desire towards a man in my life. On the other hand, Paul is a genuine gay man and says that he has never felt sexual attraction towards the opposite s3x. We started dating by a strange fate, but our identities remained the same. In other words, Paul accepts me as his lover even though he understands that I am straight, and I am his lover, knowing that he is a man, so we are in a very unique situation.

　Early on in our relationship, I honestly confessed to Paul, “I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the future.” What I meant was, “I’m not sure if the day will come when I want to sleep with you, a man.” To which Paul replied, “That’s fine.”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything either. Don’t worry. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I promise.”

“I see, thank you… But are you sure that’s okay?”

“Yes. But you only said, ‘I’m not sure yet,’ right? If you’d declared, ‘There’s no chance in the future,’ I might have thought about it a little more. I’m not like Lady Chatterley, whose husband was crippled in the war. I don’t see things as problems before they even arise in the first place.”

　In response to my very vague request that I “still don’t know,” he replied, “Don’t push yourself until you understand.” Paul allowed me to be “just myself.” Our understanding of each other and our spirituality deepened, but our physical contact remained the same. We used loving words and loving kisses.

　───The average 28-year-old American man. No problem with being s*xless───

　It was only recently that I realized that I wasn’t “unhealthy” enough to fit that catchphrase. For a while now, I’ve been having frequent s*x dreams. I don’t know who the other person is. I’m just with something somehow seductive and gentle, and when I wake up, my body is either in a “desperate state” or “all over.”

　There are other times when I am made aware of this, and it happens suddenly when I am watching TV. When I am watching a drama and a sexy scene comes on the screen, I somehow feel uneasy. If Paul is next to me, it is even worse, and I find myself standing in the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, or bringing up a topic that has nothing to do with the sexy scene, such as “By the way, yesterday at work…”

　The atmosphere was more awkward than when watching “Charlie’s Angels” with my parents. Paul seemed to feel the same way, and he actively asked for more coffee and tried to join the conversation by asking, “Yesterday at work? What?” I felt bad that he was acting strange because I was reacting like a middle school kid who wanted to have s*x, but the other day, something proved that it wasn’t just because of my suspicious behavior.

　I was exhausted after working overtime, so Paul asked me, “Shall I give you a shoulder blade pull?” Pulling shoulder blades is his specialty. It’s great for a tired body, but it also has the added effect of making you say some kind of prayer while it’s happening.

“No, no thanks,” I said. “If they did that to me now, I might die.”

“Another exaggeration,” Paul said with a wry smile.

“Even if I don’t die, I’m not sure I’ll be able to wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Well, let’s keep it light. Something that won’t make you teary-eyed.”

　We laid a yoga mat on the floor (the only yoga mats used nowadays for such occasions), covered it with bath towels, and lay face down on it. Paul warmed some citrus-scented oil in his hands and began to slowly massage the muscles in my back.

　I close my eyes, breathe in the aroma of mandarin, and as I begin to relax, I groan through my teeth. Of course, it’s not from discomfort. His hand movements are exquisite. He finds one thing after another that I want him to do, and starts to loosen them all. I didn’t know he had such a nice technique up his sleeve. What’s with the usual “shoulder blade release”? At this moment, if the therapist asked me to share a bank account, I would skip all other steps and just say “yes”…

“You can get up now.” I groaned and groaned until I heard those cruel words. Realizing the truth that all time is not eternal, the oil-covered man woke up in a dreamlike state.

“Oh…wow. That was amazing. Thank you.”

“Really? That’s good. First, dry yourself off with a bath towel before the oil drips onto the floor.”

“Your hands are just amazing. You can give me a massage. You can cut my hair. Mr. Hand. You’re amazing.”

　I took his hand and tried to kiss the back of it. It was a bit of an exaggerated move, even a little joking, but Paul pulled my hand away (it was wet with oil, so it was easy) and prevented my lips from landing there. I looked at him with a bit of a blush on his cheeks, and he declared, “I don’t accept sexual harassment from patients.”

“It’s not sexual harassment. I’m grateful.”

“But it’s fine.”

“But we’re lovers and we kiss every day?”

“I’m going to wash my hands.”

“Wait, Paul!” I grabbed his arm as he tried to stand up and pulled him back.

“I’m not backing down like this! Let me kiss you!”

“Dean!”

　I pushed him to the floor and splattered kisses all over his face. I thought Paul would laugh, but to my surprise, he just weakly muttered, “Hey… stop.” His expression was so sad that it made me feel uneasy, and I felt like I had done something terrible (sexual harassment!).

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, and moved away from him.

“I’m going to wash my hands.”

　Paul disappeared into the bathroom. I felt awkward. I thought I was being silly, but he didn’t seem to take it that way. But in the past, Paul would probably have laughed and said something silly to me.

　Just as childhood friends from elementary school begin to become more conscious of each other as they grow into adults, we begin to see each other’s bodies as sexual objects.

　There’s nothing wrong with seeing someone as a sexual object. After all, Paul and I are lovers. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re normal guys with healthy bodies and souls. My belief that we could stay in a pure, angelic relationship like this forever is crumbling in the face of my physical desires.

　Similar incidents occurred several times after this, but each time, Paul would move away from me and not come within a five-foot radius of me. Paul was faithful to his promise of “not doing anything that Dean would not like.” He was a kind man who cared about others. He would never push me down, even by mistake. The kiss went through without any problems. So what happened after that? Indeed, I’m now not sure where the line is for “things I don’t like being done.” Previously, my stance was, “I’m not sure if the day will come when I want to sleep with a man,” which in other words was a clear stance of “I don’t want to sleep with him now,” but now I’m in an indecisive state of “I don’t know if I want to sleep with him or not.”

If you ask me if I want to sleep with a man, the answer is 100% no. If you ask me if I want to sleep with Paul, I can only answer that I don’t know. However, I do have a desire to be closer to him, and it’s pretty painful when I try to kiss the back of his hand and he rejects me.

“I won’t do anything that Dean doesn’t like,” he has decided. That means, if I want to develop this relationship, I have to approach him first. We are happy as it is. That is very true, but impulses arise completely unrelated to “happiness.” Impulses just happen. It happens suddenly one day.

　We got pretty close that day, too, but then Paul got up and went into the kitchen, saying, “Let’s cut up some oranges,” and we narrowly avoided that.

　Paul was avoiding “that” thing with me. The reason was because of his sincerity towards Dean. Because of his love for Dean… What on earth could that mean? Suddenly, everything up until then seemed foolish, and I followed Paul to the kitchen. I found him with an orange in his hand, and without any hesitation, I hugged my lover from behind.

“Wait… Dean?”

“I love you, Paul.”

“Um… well, yeah, I understand… I’m using a knife, so it’s dangerous, so please move away…”

“Let’s do it,” he whispers into the ear of the man with the knife. “I want to sleep with you. Right now.”

　I know it’s a terrible pick-up line, but I can’t wait any longer. Not even a moment longer. The formal steps I’ve been taking so far: brew the tea, add the milk, then sugar, then cinnamon if you like… who cares about the traditional order!

“Sorry, not romantic, but… I can’t follow the procedure.”

“Not romantic?” Paul chuckled. “Romantic pales in comparison to what you just said. Most people just take things too far. That worked — I felt it.”

　He put the knife on the counter. Love is the best way to disarm someone…or is that what the Buddha said?

　Paul holds my hand tightly, then gently releases it. Hand in hand, we go from the kitchen to the bedroom. It was the California orange that saved my life. Love saves everything. The fruit must have learned the Buddha’s teachings through its own body.

　The Chrysler Building juts out into the night sky. I can’t see it very well from my room. Paul’s room is large. Mine is about the same size, but this one feels a lot more spacious. There is minimal furniture. There aren’t many books or CDs. The only items that stand out are a piece of twisted driftwood and a potted plant. There is a nostalgic warmth to the interior, which matches the personality of the room’s owner.

　I was in Paul’s room, waiting for him to finish his shower, looking around aimlessly, pulling a random book off the shelf and leafing through it (the random one I picked was “Chemical Approaches to Hair Styling” – I put it back on the shelf in five seconds).

　I have the s*x drive of a teenager, the restlessness of a teenager, pointlessly adjusting the collar of my bathrobe (even though I’m going to take it off anyway!) and tugging the sheets out to get the wrinkles out (even though they’re going to be a mess anyway!).

　I wanted to share a bed, but I didn’t have any concrete ideas about it. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, or what I didn’t want to do. I felt uneasy, as if I had given a presentation without any preparation, so I brought some nice-smelling candles and condoms from my room. Better safe than sorry. …But I don’t know if this is enough. Is there anything else I need? Is it enough to just light the candle? Is one condom enough? It’s no wonder I don’t have any concrete ideas about this bed-in. I’m completely ignorant about s3x between men.

　Paul doesn’t have “A Chemical Approach to Gay S*x” on his bookshelf. Even if he did, he might read it and be seriously put off by what he reads, especially if it comes with helpful illustrations.

　If you ask me if I can do a guy’s XXX, I’ll be honest and say it’s difficult (yes, it’s even difficult not to use obscured words here). But even so, it’s true that I’m not satisfied with the way things are now. A goodnight kiss, a light hug. I wanted to love each other more deeply than that. But, but…

“May I come in?” came a soft knock and a small voice. “Come in,” I said, opening the door to find him there wearing a pale green bathrobe.

“Welcome to your room,” I said respectfully, and Paul replied, “Welcome to my bed.” Her blonde hair was still wet, her cheeks slightly flushed. A feeling of love welled up in my heart.

“What? Something smells nice?” asked Paul.

“It’s a candle. Diptyque Rose Geranium. Don’t you hate it?”

“Yeah”

　Paul and I sit down on the bed, side by side. Through the gaps in the blinds, I can see the church-like Chrysler Building. Beside me is my shampoo-scented lover. I put my arm around his shoulders and gently pull him towards me. I look into his eyes, touch his cheek with my lips, then slide them sideways until our lips meet. Tasting his tongue, I gently push him down on the bed. Paul lies on the white sheets. Illuminated by the candlelight, he has a faint smile on his face.

　It’s a great atmosphere. It would be natural to rush into action from here… but how?

“Um… Paul…”

“Yeah?”

“What should I do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there… um… anything you need? Towels, lotion, or any other tools you might need.”

“Tools?” Paul opened his eyes wide. “What’s that! Tools?! What on earth are you imagining?!” He raised his torso and laughed out loud. The good mood disappeared in a fit of laughter. “Towels and lotion” – did those items sound perverted? I didn’t have any particular imagination when I said it, but it was strangely embarrassing to be laughed at.

“I’m not imagining anything. There’s no way I could imagine it. S*x between men is a completely unknown thing to me.”

　As I was talking quickly to hide my embarrassment, Paul said to me, “Love has nothing to do with being male or female.”

“Just touching each other and feeling good together. Kissing, touching, making the other person feel good, and feeling the other person…” He reaches out and strokes my shoulder. “I wonder? I’ve never done it with a woman, but I don’t think it’s that different.”

　That’s true. I can agree that that’s true. But, however…

　As I groaned and crossed my arms, Paul tilted his head and asked, “What else?”

“To be honest,” I turn to him.

“To be honest?”

“I’m scared.”

“Dean! Haha! That’s cute!”

“Stop saying ‘cute'”

“Uh… sorry. I know, you’re a virgin. But I’m glad you were honest with me. Now, don’t worry. Do you think I’d do anything to scare you?”

　Her light blue eyes peered into mine. They were so beautiful that I couldn’t imagine them doing anything scary.

“But you know… when two guys do it, one of them has to… well…”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’re talking about anal s*x, aren’t you?”

　Paul said it casually. Is it just me, or does he think there was a ridiculous word mixed in somewhere in the lines he just said?

“Don’t worry, my promise of not doing anything you don’t like still stands. And s*x isn’t just about putting it in.”

“Isn’t that the only thing? That’s…”

“Well, you’ll see if you try,” she said, smiling brightly with eyes as blue as the sky.

　If he had a tail, the tip of it would definitely be pointed. At this moment, I should have noticed Paul Copeland’s “true form”. I didn’t notice because I was under the tension of the wedding night and the bl00d that should have gone to my head was starting to concentrate in my lower body, so my brain was slowing down.

　My lover slowly climbs on top of me while kissing me. I’m being pushed down (by Paul). Flexible hands rip off my bathrobe. I’m being pushed down (by Paul). What does that mean?… “Well, you’ll see when you try,” I guess.

　Except for nails and hair, there are nerves in the body. All of these are sensitive parts of the body, and I had learned from past experiences that it was childish to focus only on the parts that aroused me sexually. Ears, napes, fingertips, palms, nails, and hair all feel wonderful, and even though they don’t have nerves, they feel good when touched. Paul seemed to be well aware of this, and instead of going straight for a specific spot, he sucked on my earlobe, licked between my fingers, and seemed to enjoy each process at a leisurely pace.

　We touched each other gently. Gradually opening our bodies, we explored them with curiosity and joy. We validated each other’s touch and were validated by each other’s touch. We knew our senses and knew each other’s bodies. “Male and female love doesn’t matter,” Paul said. The truth of that theory is being proven by experience. We just love each other and want to touch each other. Unless the other person is a cactus or a hedgehog, it’s probably a natural impulse.

　My n1pples were kissed and licked. It was a strange feeling, but not bad at all. On the right, fingers, on the left, tongue, and teeth. Both were competently manned. I groaned as they continued to attack me. Has chemistry not yet proven that there is some kind of connection between the nerves of the n1pples and p3nis? I was overcome with the desire to have him go straight to the spot that throbbed in response to the caresses, but I also felt like I wanted to savor this sensation for a while longer.

　As he fiddles around here and there, his fingers eventually reach the entrance to the secret cave. Ah, that’s it. I knew it would come that way…

　”Don’t be scared,” Paul whispered as I stiffened. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. I won’t do anything you don’t like.”

　That’s right, there’s no way Paul would do something “unimaginable” to me. He’s the most trustworthy guy I know. I can rest assured. We’re just trying to get to know each other better. It’s not about hurting each other or being selfish about our pleasures.

　He puts his finger on it and applies pressure. Calm down, Dean. You’ve never heard of a death caused by anal s*x? (Whether it gets on CNN is another matter) Just a regular gay guy walking down the street. I’m not any tougher than they are. Get the unimaginable images of gay s*x out of your mind! Elton John, George Michael, Freddie Mercury, Rupert Everett, Boy George, Gandalf!!! Give me your strength!!!

“How? No? Does it feel good?”

　Paul was observing like a skilled surgeon. I didn’t reply. I just stared back at him without replying, but there must have been some kind of message in my gaze. As if he had received something, he exclaimed with a sigh, “Oh, Dean…”

“I love you, Dean…”

“Me too,” I opened my mouth to say, but all that came out were strange groans and sighs.

“I love you, Dean. I love you…”

　Then Paul did a lot of things to me. 

　So you’re saying that’s not true? Our private life is not porn. Let me just say briefly that I’m glad. However, if you watch the conversation that follows, I think you can guess what happened.

“Hey, you… Well, is that kind of thing normal?”

　Lying on the bed, I asked Paul, whose head was resting on my shoulder.

“Normal?” Paul asked, shaking his head slightly.

“No, it’s nothing. Forget about that question…”

　If this is the “normal level for a gay man,” what kind of skill does Roman, who boasts of his skills, have? (I don’t particularly want to know.) It’s a good thing they say, “just touch and make love.” After it was over, he said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this passionate,” like a craftsman who has accomplished a job. What a scary guy. This is the saying that people can’t be deceived.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“This is your first time with someone of the same s*x, right?”

“Ah”

“That’s right…”

　Right? What? What does that mean? The way he says it makes me curious, but somehow it’s hard to ask him again.

　Did I blurt out something outrageous during s3x just now? I remember some things, but not others. He knows the male body inside and out. On the other hand, it was my first time sleeping with a man. In a way, that’s the same as being a virgin. Still, the fact that I ended up like “Ah” means that I may be blessed with gay talent. Even though it was my first time… even though it was my first time… A sense of shame with nowhere to go wells up inside me. It becomes like a tsunami, assaulting my delicate mind, and the chemical reaction causes a simple scream.

　Paul springs to his feet and asks, “Wow! That’s a surprise! What?!”

“…I wanted to scream.”

“Why? Maybe you’re embarrassed?”

“Ah”

　How astute of him to deduce my mental state from just one scream (or am I just simple-minded?).

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Paul says. “You were saying, what? Normal? You don’t have to worry about that. How about this? It’s not bad, right?”

“Oh, not bad at all…”

“Not even?”

　I offered, taking his grinning hand.

“Mr. Hand. Let me kiss you this time.”

　Paul was kissed like a queen.

　My girlfriend is amazing. She can give me massages and cut my hair. She is perfect. When it comes to s3x, she made me fall in love with her after just one session. Mr. Hand and Paul. You guys are amazing…

“It’s easier to give birth than to worry about it.” When I tried it, it was such a great experience that I wondered, “Why didn’t I do it sooner?” Since the wedding night, we have been working hard on our “collaboration” every day. However, one thing I’m worried about is the timing of the last part. I’ve never had that happen before, but when it comes to s3x with Paul, I’m…how can I put it…in other words, to put it simply…fast.

　Before I can satisfy the other person, I finish quickly. That’s because Paul tries all sorts of things, but even so, I wonder what it’s like to end up “early” almost every time.

　When I said that, Paul said, “I don’t care.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, and it feels good to see that.”

　How adorable. Are you the Virgin Mary? That comment makes me want to hug you.

　After having s3x with him, I think. Maybe what I did with women in the past was lazy. I guess it’s a happy thing to have had such an experience that even made me reflect on myself. I think that after a while, when I get used to it, I’ll be able to make Paul wow me. He’s a gay black belt. I’m a beginner. There seems to be a lot I can learn from my lover.

　If you’re having a late lunch at a cafe during your break from work and a beautiful woman with dark hair and green eyes approaches you and asks, “Can I sit with you?”, how do you think you should respond?

“Of course, my lady. Please have a seat,” the gentleman replied smartly.

“Thank you,” said the beautiful woman sitting across from me. She opened the menu and asked with a smile, “May I order a chocolate brownie?”

“Of course, my dear. Please, put on some weight.”

　The beautiful woman burst out laughing.

“Come on! Dean! Stop acting weird!”

“You! It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, and you say something like that! When did you get here?”

“Yesterday.”

“How many years has it been?”

“Three and a half years, I guess. But I did make a few business trips to New York during that time.”

“Oh, I had no idea. You never called me.”

“Do you think there’s a woman who contacts her ex-boyfriend all the time?”

“That’s true.”

　The beautiful woman in the smart suit is his ex-girlfriend, Jill Milian. She left love (which means she left me) and is now living in Los Angeles to pursue her career.

　As we nibble on shepherd’s salad instead of chocolate brownies, we reminisce about fond memories.

“Come to think of it, we’ve been to a lot of places together. Do you remember St. Thomas?”

“Of course. You were making a big fuss about being scared of the submarine. On the ferry, the wind blew the cotton candy away and it got stuck in the hair of the lady sitting next to you.”

“Hey, that’s all you’ve got. It’s not that…” Jill gently places her hand on mine on the table.

“It was a wonderful night…” I trace my index finger around the back of my hand as if I were drawing words on it. When we were lovers, this was a sign that said, “How about tonight?”…

“Well, well, I’m currently dating someone…”

“Oh really? How many?” Jill said coolly.

“Alone.”

“Alone” spinning around.

“Yes”

“That’s sad.”

　What kind of comment is this? No, it’s a good comment to describe me. Jill moved from New York, and we tried a long-distance relationship, but there are 2,500 miles between LA and New York. It’s a relationship where kissing and hugging are impossible. I couldn’t bear that kind of torture, so I quickly found a new girlfriend.

“Well, you know… I’m not the same person I used to be,” he said, gently pulling his hand away and placing it under the table. “I’m older… I’m a bit more settled now.”

“No way,” Jill said, laughing innocently, her eyes wide.

“That’s true.”

“Maybe… you got married?” Jill asked in a low voice, as if there was something ominous about it. She fixed her eyes on my hand and said, “You don’t look like you’re wearing a ring, though…”

“Jill, I have a boyfriend.”

　Her mouth dropped open in an O shape, and her eyes widened.

“That must be a lie…?”

　Ah, that’s right. A shocking confession. The man you once loved has become gay. That’s not an easy truth to accept.

“No wonder you’re shocked…”

“You’re gay!”

　A sudden loud voice. With what she had just said, everyone in the cafe, from the customers to the staff, must have found out about my sexual preferences.

“Oh my goodness! What on earth happened?”

　Jill burst out laughing. Wait, is this supposed to be funny?

“I can’t believe it…or should I say, I thought so…it was just…” He was out of breath, and his words trailed off.

“Is that so strange?”

“Because… your identity was based on ‘looking gay, but not being gay’! And of all people…!” He squeezed the air out of his lungs, took a breath, and began laughing again. “Dean Kelly is gay! That’s just so true! Ahh… I’m in tears…”

　Just as I was thinking about warning her that laughing too much would ruin her makeup, Jill straightened up and muttered, “Sorry, I laugh too much…”

“Well, I’m really happy to see your smile after such a long time.”

“You’re still the same way, even though you’re gay. But still… It’s really surprising.”

“Oh, I’m surprised myself.”

“I guess so,” he chuckles. He takes a sip of his coffee, regains his composure, and then sighs, “I wonder why all the good-looking guys turn gay.”

“Being in Manhattan makes me feel like it’s kind of a disadvantage to be a woman these days. I think it’s a bit much for you to be gay too.”

“There are so many single men out there.”

“Yeah, there are,” she said, pausing, “but they’re not good-looking guys like you,” she continued. “You’re handsome, you have good taste, you don’t tell nasty jokes, and you’re very kind to women. Sometimes it’s a bit of a pain to be a bit of a womanizer, but… to a certain extent, it can’t be helped, because you’re wonderful. No wonder other women can’t leave you alone.”

“Even if you flatter me, we’re still going to split the bill here.”

“Oh no, I don’t mean it… Um, can I have a chocolate brownie?” Jill raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Same old way of putting it.”

“I want people to realize that handsome men have a mission, don’t they? This is breaking the chain of good-looking men’s DNA. It’s a loss for humanity.”

“I see. In that case, I think I should register with a sperm bank now.”

“Only gay women want that. We get pleasure from milking it in bed, so it makes no sense.”

　The word “in bed” reminds me of a question.

“Hey, I’ve got something I want to ask you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been… lazy in… bed with you, haven’t I?”

“Laziness?”

“Laziness means being lazy, slacker, lazy…”

“I know what the words mean.”

“Ah”

“You’re lazy?”

　Instead of replying, I nodded silently.

“You know, back then I used to tell my friends, ‘Can you believe it? There are men out there who are perfect in restaurants and bed.” She looked at me with a charming smile, looking up. “There’s no way he was lazy. If he were, I wouldn’t have had s*x so many times.”

“I see…”

“Why would you do that? Did your current partner say something to you?”

“No, that’s not it…”

　I didn’t say that he was so good that it made me lose confidence in myself… and anyway, this isn’t the kind of topic to discuss in broad daylight over a pastrami sandwich.

“Thank you for the meal today. I hope you’ll introduce me to your new boyfriend sometime soon.”

　In the end, I paid for lunch. I may have been duped, but it was a small price to pay for the sudden restoration of my self-esteem. I’m handsome, I have good taste, and I’m good in bed. Good. That’s a relief. When I die someday, should I have this engraved on my tombstone?

“The perfect man, both in the restaurant and in bed, sleeps here.”

　───Not bad.

　That night, when he reunited with Jill, Paul brought up the topic of “our s3x life” at the dining table. Mom would say that it’s not something to talk about while munching on lasagna at dinner, but we’re an open couple, so it’s not an issue. But as soon as the word “Roman” was in the conversation, it started to look a little bit like “it’s not an issue.”

“Roman?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes, he told me that there is a part of the brain called the ‘ejaculation center’, and that the mechanism by which sperm are sent out of the body is due to tension in the sympathetic nerves there. If the seminal vesicles start contracting before all the data has been accumulated there, then ejaculation will occur at a time that is contrary to the person’s will…”

“Wait… wait a minute… what? Did you tell him? About us? About us having s3x?”

“Yeah”

“You’re kidding! How could you say something like that!”

　Paul looked at me in bewilderment, his eyes wide open as I raised my voice.

“That’s not true… I didn’t consult a s3x counselor on TV.”

“Why should I willingly provide material for people to make fun of me?”

“Don’t tease me… Dean Roman is a professional. He takes these kinds of questions.”

“It’s not a question of being a professional or anything like that… he’s our friend, you know? I can’t bear for my friend to know something like that!”

　Paul apologized for his grandstanding, and the situation was resolved peacefully, but I was still shocked. It wasn’t just because Roman had found out about my private life. The problem was that “Paul had asked for advice.” The timing of my ecstasy with Paul. It was a serious problem that required advice from someone else.

　Paul said he was happy just to feel it. But he was worried. I took his words seriously and didn’t realize he was worried. I was reassured by the comments from my ex-girlfriend, but it was an illusion. My partner is not Jill. If my current partner doesn’t satisfy me, even if I get Madonna’s approval, it’s completely meaningless. I want to be a good partner for Paul. And that means in terms of s*x, too. So… I need to make an effort.

　Incense burns, and romantic background music plays. A gentle kiss and gazes into each other’s eyes. We are naked and wrapped in soft sheets. Everything about this night is perfect. At that moment, when everything is rising and we are about to be swept away by the waves, I give the command to my “ejaculation center.”

　─── Not yet! ───

　Not yet. Not now. And while I was trying, Mr. Hand kept on pestering me.

“Paul…wait a second…I’m not ready yet…”

“No?”

　I don’t mind. No, I don’t mean it like that… Ah, not yet. Don’t come yet. Paul with watery eyes. Damn. He’s too sexy. I have to think of something else…

　I close my eyes tightly and picture in my mind the portrait of a man. He has a striped shirt and spiky black hair. He has a serious, anxious personality. He has an orange nose in the middle of his long, thin face. His name is Bert, and his partner is Ernie. They are a gay couple who live on Sesame Street.

“Dean, I love you…”

　A mesmerizing voice, a whisper that stimulates the ejaculatory center. No, no… It’s Bert, Bert. Yellow face, orange nose. Paper clip collector. Ernie and Bert, Ernie and Bert… Bert is not sexy at all. Paper clip, orange nose, paper clip, orange nose… Dean Kelly! If you cum from this, you’re a pervert!

　The incense has completely burned out, and many hours have passed. My time is okay. I think it was better than last time. Paul is sleeping beside me. He was very satisfied tonight. If I keep going like this, I’m sure I’ll be able to use the time equally every time. I’m starting to feel like an athlete, but I’ll have to get used to it. “The perfect man in the restaurant and bed.” I’ll probably have to run with Bert for a while until Paul thinks that way. It’s all for my lover. Bert is making a lot of effort to live with Ernie, after all.

　If you have a partner, your phone bills will skyrocket. Paul and I live together, so we don’t make AT&T any money, but we do exchange e-mails from time to time. For example, when we’re at work. We send messages that are necessary when living together, such as “We’ll be late tonight, so we’ll have dinner separately” or “Please buy a lightbulb for the kitchen on your way home,” to things to be aware of, such as “It’s forecasting thunderstorms in the evening. We’ll have to fight for a taxi!”. Couples are always busy sending and receiving information and affection.

　And today I received another email from Paul.

　　　From: Paul Copland

　　　Subject: Dinner Date

　　　　How’s work going?

　　　　If there’s no overtime to work, let’s go out to eat.

　　　　Mrs. Button came to the store today, so I’m feeling a bit warm inside.

　　　　I’ll treat you to La Lucafne!

“Madame de Buttons” is Paul’s customer, the wife of the president of a button company. She is a generous customer who always gives an outrageous amount of tip. And “La Lucafne” is a high-class French restaurant that has good wine. Tomorrow is a day off for both Paul and I.. We’ll have dinner at a restaurant that we only book on special occasions. Of course, what happens next…

“Dean Kelly”

　Hearing his name called, he closed his email with a spinal reflex. There was only one “Kelly” or “Dean” in this office. And yet there was only one person in this office who had gone out of his way to call him by his full name. Silently standing behind him was a hitman… or rather, his boss, Sheila Cox, who was close to him.

“What about the support project?”

　She always starts conversations with a minimum of vocabulary. Words like “How are you?” and “How are you today?” don’t exist in Cox’s dictionary.

“Were you able to get in touch with the author’s agency?”

“Just like last week, it remains pending due to the other party’s circumstances.”

“What specifications will you submit to the other party?”

“Ah, that’s not enough…”

“And yet.”

　The echo returned. It’s not even a mountain, but it’s so beautiful.

“I’ll get it together right away.”

　Wanting to avoid overtime at all costs, I replied with a Jack Bauer look on my face.

“Please do so. If you have time to send emails with emoticons.”

“I don’t have a face mark!”

“I was just kidding. I was just guessing because you were grinning weirdly. I didn’t think you were actually in the middle of a personal email.”

　With that, the boss left. Who’s my boss? The FBI? Well, anyway, let’s get the job done quickly! …But first, before that.

　　　Sent by: Dean Kelly

　　　Subject: Re: Dinner Date

　　　　No overtime!

　　　　Even if there is one, it’s nothing!

　　　　I’ll call you later.

　　　　P.S. A kiss from me to Mrs. Buttons! XXX!!!

　— Well, that’s it! Dinner and s*x tonight! I’ll take it and get hard!

　The seats near the windows are reserved for romantic couples. There are scentless candles and attentive busboys. With Paul, you don’t have to be intimidated by menus in foreign languages. He’s a reliable partner who will tell you that “lapin” is a cute rabbit before you even order.

　I have no intention of using Viagra, but I have wondered, “Which is more effective for sexual stamina: oysters or foie gras?” (Of course, in this case, I would prefer to consume the one that is not “effective for sexual stamina”).

　Tonight, I limited myself to a half-sized decanter. Every bottle I finish increases the risk of falling asleep, and that would be pointless for a “dinner date.” A perfect night to enjoy the food and atmosphere. The setting changes with the flow. An “after-dinner date,” a perfect night to enjoy s3x and the mood…

　If I start by talking about the results I’m interested in, I’ll say that I was able to hold on better than last time. Good job, athlete. If I keep going like this, I’ll soon be able to join the leading pack. I’ve got Bart with me. With him, I have nothing to fear.

　As I lay in bed, wondering if the foie gras and grilled tuna with herbs might have worked, Paul suddenly asked me, “What are you thinking?”

“What?”

“Just now. What were you thinking?”

“picture……?”

　Paul leaned his elbows on the pillow and said, “You seem to be distracted during s3x. You must be thinking about something else.” The expression on his face was unlike that of a lover who had been making love just a few minutes earlier.

“What on earth are you thinking? Can you tell me? I won’t get mad.”

“Me? Something else? What?”

“That’s why I’m asking. Are you perhaps… someone else…”

“What are you talking about?! That’s not possible!”

“I haven’t said anything yet, so there’s no need to yell.”

“Don’t yell…!”

　… I was yelling. Moreover, I sounded strangely agitated. If I raised my voice so obviously, even someone who wasn’t a detective would be able to tell that my behavior was questionable.

“Look, Dean. It’s not so bad to use your imagination during s3x, as long as it’s consensual. But that’s not what you’re doing, is it? I’ll guess what, you’re thinking about a girl. You’re sleeping with me. You’re imagining a woman’s body.”

“No!” I sat up in bed.

“No!” he continued, and Paul woke up with a jump.

“I don’t care about women!”

“I’m thinking about it!”

“I haven’t thought about it!”

“I’m thinking about it!”

　He declared that he wouldn’t get angry. Now he’s pissed.

“I told you I haven’t thought about it! How can you say that with confidence?! Are you a psychic?!”

　It’s starting to sound like a kid’s quarrel. I know it’s bad, but I can’t stop it.

“You don’t have to be a psychic to know that,” Paul said, folding his arms. “I’ll know right away that you’re lying. It’s a crappy piece of sh1t!”

　Yes, I’m bad at lying. Honesty is a virtue. But still… the truth is bitter! I can’t say it!

“That’s enough…” It was he who muttered, not me.

“I don’t want to get into this kind of fight.” Paul’s earlier intensity was gone. His voice and shoulders dropped in an instant.

“I’m a guy, so that’s what it comes down to, right?”

“what……”

“After all, you like women…”

　He is wrapping up his story quickly and is falling apart fast.

“It makes me sad… Am I supposed to hate myself? For falling in love with you?”

　Hold on a second! That’s not what I meant!

“I love you…I love you so much,” Paul said, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

“I love you too…”

“But you’re thinking about women…”

　Aaaaahh! Seriously! What the hell is this?!

　Finally I spoke up. “Okay! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! I’m not thinking about women! I’m thinking about Bert! I’m thinking about Bert!!!”

　Paul opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, looked thoughtful, opened his mouth again, and said:

“………………………who?”

　Well, I guess I have no choice. Bert, I’ll introduce you to Paul. I wonder if Paul will forgive me for cheating on him with you…

“If you laugh that much, you’ll get a twisted intestine.” Lying on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling, I gave my lover a medical warning.

“Sorry…”

“You’re still laughing.”

“Sorry”

“Don’t laugh.”

“…No, I’m not laughing anymore. See, right? Look into my eyes? I’m not laughing, right?”

　Paul leans over me, peering in. He’s not laughing. There are tears in the corners of his eyes, but he’s not laughing.

“But even so, why did you say that…I told you that I could feel it just by watching you feel it.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need to push yourself. If I’m “insufficient for the other person” then…”

“Dean.”

　Paul took my face in his hands and forced me to look into his eyes.

“‘Not enough for the other person’? No way. And that’s a strange way to put it. This isn’t a competition of ‘who can last the longest’.”

　As I remained silent between his soft arms, Paul continued speaking.

“I’m sorry for making you feel uneasy. We should have had this opportunity to talk sooner.”

　It’s not that there weren’t occasions like that – Paul had broached the subject at the dinner table one time – but I was too embarrassed to cut him off.

“I’m not good at talking about that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, that’s something I didn’t know. I didn’t know that about you,” Paul chuckled, a different kind of laugh than the one he’d had earlier.

“You see, I think it’s best to have a proper discussion about these things. It may have been a bad idea to ask Roman for advice without your permission, but he’s a very reliable person, and as you’d expect, very knowledgeable. And, after all, we’re mutual friends. You’re reluctant to discuss these things, right? That’s why you kept it to yourself, and as a result, you came up with the idea of ​​getting ‘Bart’ to join us in having s3x…”

　Now that I think about it, it’s a stupid idea. I want to pull the sheets over my head. Paul seems to understand my feelings and says, “I’m not blaming you.”

“Well, I’d like to think about these things together and discuss them. What do you think?”

“Yeah…me too…”

“Discuss?”

“Ah”

“So my question is, what do you want from having s3x with me?”

“I…” he began, then looked back into his mind, then at Paul, took a deep breath, and spoke into his eyes.

“I don’t want to be one-sided and passive. I want you to feel it properly, and I want to confirm that. I want to balance our relationship, not just in everyday matters, but also in terms of s3x. Well… sometimes being one-sided is fine, though.”

“Yeah, I went too far. I got excited because you were so cute,” Paul chuckled. No wonder his tail was pointy at times like this.

“Yes, one-sided s3x isn’t good for a long time, that’s for sure. I used to think, ‘I’m just going to watch you feel good,’ but even if it’s fine now, I think eventually I’ll get dissatisfied with it.”

“I want to strike a balance there.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I want you to do.”

“Please do.”

“Yeah”

　After that conversation, we continued our “meeting” until the early hours of the morning, including practical examples. What do we want him to do, what do we not want him to do? How can we feel each other more deeply? Not everything can be almighty in one night. That is impossible, and of course, that is fine. We have plenty of time to understand each other. From now on, we will make love many times and deepen our understanding of each other. I was so caught up in the fact that it was just two guys and it was our first time that I almost forgot the most important thing about s3x. Feel the other person and feel yourself. Give to the other person and receive yourself. Discover together and enjoy it. Don’t do anything that the other person doesn’t like. It’s not a competition or a fight, just touch each other and feel great together. Loving each other doesn’t matter whether you’re male or female. This is a very natural and universal act of love, whether you’re gay or straight.

“Wa-wait a second, Paul! Uh-oh…!”

　As the painful screams stopped, Paul popped his head out from the sea of ​​messed-up sheets.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you cum,” she said with a smile. There was no sincerity in that “I’m sorry.”

　With my breathing still unstable, I muttered, “…I thought one-sided s3x wasn’t good?”

“Was that one-sided? I don’t think so. Did you dislike it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it…”

“If you don’t like it, just say so. I’m always open to stopping,” Paul said, deftly raising one eyebrow (where’s his tail?!).

“Don’t worry. Your body is telling you if you don’t like it or not. Just don’t say ‘no’ for now…” Before he could finish his sentence, I shoved a pillow in his face.

“What are you doing?” Paul laughed, pushing the pillow away.

“Don’t say that!”

“Because it’s true! Your body is more honest than your mouth! You say ‘no’ with your mouth, which confuses me, but if I had to believe anything, it would be your sexy body!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Loud voice! You are the one making more noise!”

“One day I’m gonna make you cum!”

“Come on! I told you it wasn’t a contest!”

“No! This is a fight! Paul! I declare war on you!”

“Wow, then I better prepare myself!”

　A big smile full of nasty things. What a guy I have as a boyfriend! Come to think of it, Bert was always bothered by Ernie. Now I think I understand why he became such a sensitive person.

　My partner is happy. I am happy with my partner. We are good partners. Let’s continue to be honest with ourselves and with each other so that we can build a long-term relationship like the Sesame Street couples.

　I have two of the top answers given in a survey of men in their late twenties asking, “What do you want from life?” They are “A stable job and a happy private life.”

　A life where you can feel a sense of purpose in your life, working in the office during the day and at home at night. It’s daytime and I’m working in the office. Today, as usual, I received an email. It’s from my lover… right? A message with an attachment. The sender is Roman.

　　　From: Roman Destiny

　　　Subject: Suitable gift

　　　　Hello, Mister Lightning!

　　　　During that time, if you think it’s dangerous,

　　　　Remember this image!

　　　　The effect is outstanding!

　　　　Yours, Roman, Love Savior 😉

　I scrolled the screen from the winking face mark. A portrait of a man appeared, filling the entire screen. He had a striped shirt and spiked hair. In the middle of his long, thin face was an orange nose…

“Roman is a professional counselor.” “He’s a very reliable gu.y” I get it. Paul is overselling this guy. “He didn’t consult a s3x counselor on TV”? That’s a million times better!!!

　Just as I was about to move the email to the trash, I heard a voice behind me say, “Dean Kelly.”

“Is your girlfriend five?”

　Without turning around, I answered.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Right. What about the support project?”

“Pending.”

“Collect the data that will get the other party to say yes and file it by tomorrow.”

“……Jesus”

　No dates. Overtime. Don’t give out your company email address to people.

　The skies are clear, the air is sweet, and I want to move to Sesame Street.

　When I die someday, I want this engraved on my gravestone.

“Here lies a man of delicate and sensitive nerves.”

　I’m sure only Bart would understand how I feel.