“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
I watched Marco watching his wife, and now that she was inside, I asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just worry about her. Thankfully Ricky and I are training new executive-level employees so the three of us could all take more time off and finally reap the benefits of our hard work. We’re scheduled to meet them at the port before they depart later today. They’re fresh back from their first journey without us, and I’m nervous about how it went.”
“Ah… that makes sense. Bella Viaggi is important to you.”
“My family is more important,” Marco said, stating the obvious. “I have to go. Ricky will kill me if I’m late.” A visual of Ricky pacing while running a hand through his sandy-blond hair led to remembering the feel of his lips on mine. I tried hard to keep him out of my mind, but the mere mention of him mocked those intentions. “You’ll be okay here?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a firm nod. “I’ll check on her in a bit.”
“Thanks, Coop.” Marco left me alone as I tried to envision how things would go down when I saw Ricky the next day.
I needed to figure my shit out. It wasn’t normal to obsess over something that had inexplicably slipped a new lens over the way I looked at things. That was how I viewed the situation. For whatever reason, the time I spent with him on that trip had flipped a switch, and now it was nearly impossible to flip it off. I fucking tried—and even succeeded for a few days here and there. But then, seeing a tall, fit man with the same hair color or one of my students with the same pale-blue eyes would send him hurtling back into my mind. The level of desire that tormented me for hours afterward wasn’t healthy.
Not having the desire to be with anyone else intimately, either female or male, to release the pressure, wasn’t healthy.
Fighting to tamp down an erection whenever I did allow myself to fantasize about him wasn’t healthy.
But masturbating daily while imagining his lips on my body really wasn’t healthy.
Rebecca’s plans for a quiet evening flew out the window when Antonio woke from his nap cranky and miserable. A low-grade fever, congestion, and what was clearly teething didn’t make him a happy camper. I felt bad for my nephew… and for his parents.
Antonio wanted no part of visiting with me or even playing with the toys I had brought, which was so unlike him. After a chaotic dinner, understandably, all three Puglias were in bed by nine. And now, a few hours later, I considered hitting a sports bar nearby but decided I wasn’t in the mood to think. Being in a social environment and analyzing every look I received, debating with myself if I wanted to pursue the person giving the look, was exhausting. So instead I found Marco’s liquor stash and set out to relax with a stiff bourbon while enjoying their backyard oasis.
Feeling no pain an hour or so later, my cell flashed with Riana’s picture. “Hey, beautiful girl who should’ve told me to fuck off but instead has become a lifesaver in my tumultuous seas.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Getting there.” Why bother denying it?
“Good. This may now go the way I hoped it to. Quick! Open the Galaxy Satellite Radio app on your phone. He’s talking about sexuality.”
Knowing exactly who he was, I groaned over the phone. “Ree.”
“Coop, can you just listen tonight? What do you have to lose? It’s like he’s speaking to you.”
“Fine.” The sooner I tuned in to this quack, the sooner she would stop bugging me about it.
“Yay! He’s on channel forty. Love you.”
“Love you too.” It was ironic how easily those words came out now that we were apart, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol I’d consumed. It was because Riana was no longer a reminder of my failures. The pressure of forever had been suppressed, and my love for her as a friend could take on its true form.
“Go! I’ll be listening.”
“Woo-hoo.” Reluctantly, I ended her call, downloaded the app, found his specific station, and tuned in.
“It doesn’t necessarily need to be a black-and-white situation,” the man I assumed was Dr. Lair said over the air. “I believe society is consumed with labeling what more times than not simply can’t be labeled.”
“That makes my situation even more pathetic,” another man responded.
“In what way?”
“I agree society’s quick to label, but without them, a person can feel lost and alone. Being told I’m gay is easier to digest than believing I’m too weird to label.”
“That’s quite a simplification,” Dr. Lair argued before supplying a logical explanation to contradict the man’s claim. I had no idea who this person was, but there was something comforting about hiding behind his confession to the masses. And yet, when the anonymous voice failed to ask the questions that ran rampant in my mind, I blamed curiosity, frustration, and bourbon for tapping the 800 number on my screen.
“Live with Dr. Lair,” a woman said. “Your alias?”
“Um… Confused in Jersey,” came out before I thought better of it.
“Please hold.”
What the fuck was I doing?
This was dumb. Fucking dumb. What was I supposed to say? I kissed a guy and liked it. It’s all I can think of, and now I have no idea how to proceed with my sex life.
“You’re on with Vaughn,” his deep voice said before I had the chance to chicken out. “How can I get you off?” My unintelligible fumble forced him to add, “Confused in Jersey… don’t be shy. Talk to me.”
Panic set in when I blurted out, “I kissed a guy and liked it.” Instantly, the war of feelings that plagued me took hold at the memory. “It’s all I can think of, and now I have no idea how to proceed with my sex life.” And then I smacked my forehead, because I needed a good smack.
“Let’s start with some background. Was that the first time you kissed a man?”
“No.”
“So you’ve had a relationship with a man before?”
“No.”
“Was the man you kissed a stranger?”
“No.”
“So he’s a friend?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” His frustration was clear in that one word. I was probably the kind of caller he dreaded. “Let me ask you this… what is it about him that intrigued you to kiss him?”
“I was drunk.”
“That may account for the impulsive decision to kiss him, but you obviously sobered up eventually and claim you are still thinking about that kiss. Let’s focus on that.”
My pathetic response to that tidbit was, “I’m not gay.”
Dr. Lair chuckled before saying, “I didn’t ask you if you were, but since tonight we are talking about society’s role in labeling sexuality, are you more comfortable to identify as a bisexual?”
“No. I’m not attracted to men. I’ve been hit on many times in my adult life by the same sex, and not once had I felt any kind of attraction.”
“But you said you kissed a man before?”
“Experimenting in college. It didn’t do it for me.”