Out Of Focus

ROBBIE

I walked into my favorite dance club, The Grind, and ambled over to the bar. After ordering a drink, I turned, leaned against the railing and watched the men out on the dance floor moving in time with the music. I was searching for something, someone, who might pique my interest.

I don't do this very often, I'm really not into the club scene, but occasionally, well…

I felt a body slide next to me; glancing over, I saw it was him. I had noticed him many times before, but had never gotten up the courage to approach him. He was tall; I would guess around six foot, maybe six one, compared to my five nine. He had light brown hair, a muscular body, and a strong jaw that would make anyone look twice, but what really got my attention were his eyes. They were big and expressive and the most unusual shade of hazel.

"Chivas, straight up."

It was the first time I had heard him speak. His low, smoky voice washed over me like syrup. I watched as he flipped a bill down on the bar and picked up his drink. He turned, walking off without ever even looking in my direction.

I sighed and watched him walk away. I wanted to ask the bartender who he was, but that seemed desperate. I wanted to ask him to dance, or better yet, approach him on the dance floor, but something kept me from doing it. It was fear of rejection, I suppose, not that that had ever been a big problem before. I'm nice enough looking, I'm lean and firm, not muscular, per se, but definitely no flab. I look younger than my twenty-eight years, with dark blond hair and steel gray eyes, or at least that's what my friends tell me.

As I sipped my drink, I watched him walk up to a hot looking, dark haired man. He leaned in to whisper something in the guy's ear, the other man smiled and nodded. He slipped his hand in the waistband of his catch and led him off.

I let my voyeuristic urges take over and followed the two men to the notorious back room.

As I entered, the smell of sex and sweat swept over me like stepping into a fog. I made my way, staying in the shadows, which wasn't hard to do in the dimly lit room. Then I saw him. He had his conquest bent over with his pants around his knees. His head was thrown back and eyes closed. I watched until I heard him cry out in the heat of passion, then I turned and slipped back out onto the crowded dance floor.

It was almost an hour later when I saw him again. I was back at the bar, having just ordered another drink, when I felt the warmth of a body lean over me from behind. I felt the hot breath on my ear.

"I saw you watching me," he said.

I felt the flush start in my chest then crawl up my neck and onto my face. Was it from embarrassment or excitement?

"Maybe you'd like to do more than watch."

I closed my eyes and swallowed nervously. Not being able to trust my voice, I nodded my head.

"Yeah, I thought so."

I found myself being led back across the club. I focused only on the person leading me, ignoring the others in the crowded room.

Once again I felt the wave of sex and sweat engulfed me as we entered the backroom. He walked in a few feet and then stopped and turned. He seemed to study my eyes for a few seconds before making his request known by pushing me to my knees.

I complied.

After he shot his load, he zipped up his pants and pulled me back up to my feet. He leaned in and kissed me passionately, tasting himself on my tongue. Then he turned and walked away, leaving me grinning from ear to ear.

Over the next few weeks I went clubbing more often then usual. I told myself that I wasn't looking for the tall stranger, but I couldn't keep myself from being disappointed when the end of another night came without even a glimpse of him

Two weeks later my boss walked up to my desk and said, "Robbie, I've got an assignment for you."

I looked up from my desk at my employer and took the file he handed me. "What is it?" I asked. Working as a journalist at the local newspaper was far from my dream job, but the pay was steady and it kept my father off my back; although, at my age, I shouldn't be so concerned about what my father thought. It seemed I had yet to out grow the desire to have my father's approval.

"A new art gallery is opening up," my boss's voice brought me out of my reverie. "The artist is supposedly some hot shot photographer, the next great thing. I want you to interview this guy."

"Okay, thanks." I laid the file on my desk and watched my boss walk back across the newsroom. "Yee-haw," I muttered to myself, "another front page story in the 'arts and entertainment' section."

Not that I wanted to be a serious journalist, what I wanted was to be a full time novelist. Somewhere along the way, I had ended up here instead. No, that wasn't fair; I know how I got here, I got here by compromising, trying to please both myself and my father.

I picked up the file and began thumbing through the info on Trystan Mathews.

Two days later I walked into Sure Shot Gallery at two in the afternoon. The appointment for the interview had been arranged through Trystan's agent.

I stopped just inside the door and let my eyes take in the surroundings. The gallery was very open with a high ceiling. There were various framed prints displayed on the walls and on simple, but elegant stands around the room. The photographs themselves were of different subjects but all had an abstract theme to them. I found them to be very intriguing, drawing me in, as if to look through a window into another world.

I took in one photograph after another until movement in the back of the room caught my attention. I felt all the blood drain to my feet as I saw him standing at the back of the gallery watching.

"I assume you're the reporter from the paper here for the interview," Trystan said as he strode up to where I stood. "Trystan Mathews." He extended his hand.

"Um, Rob Heathly," I said. I shook his hand; looking into his eyes, I saw nothing, no recognition.

"We can probably do this in my studio, if you want."

"Yeah, that would be fine." I followed as Trystan led me to the studio located in the very back of the gallery. All the while my thoughts continued, 'He doesn't remember me. Fuck. He's all I have thought about since I blew him and he doesn't even remember me.'

"So how do we do this?" Trystan asked.

I coughed nervously and began, "Well, let's start by going over the information my assistant has gathered on you, make sure we have your background info correct."

"Okay." We were seated in the corner of the studio in two over-stuffed chairs.

"You're thirty-eight, born and raised here in the city, attended the local Wesley University, graduated with a Bachelors in Business Administration."

"All correct so far."

"Okay, next it says you went to work for a local corporation. It doesn't say the name. What company was it?"

Trystan waved his hand in dismissal. "It doesn't matter."

I looked at him puzzled, but didn't push it.

"You excelled with your career in corporate America until, at the age of thirty-five, you walked away," I read from the press kit the paper had received. "What made you walk away?"

"Nothing made me walk away. I chose to."

"Why?"

"Well, let's see… Okay, when you were a little boy and people asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, did you say a journalist writing articles for the arts and entertainment section of the local paper?"

I furrowed my brow. "Are you making fun of my career choice?" I was a bit insulted, but more unnerved at Trystan's question.

"No, I mean no offense. I'm just asking, is this what you pictured yourself doing?"

"No," I said quietly.

"See, I realized I was thirty-five and doing a job I hated. Photography has always been my first love. I decided it was now or never, so I jumped. I walked away and never looked back.

"That was a pretty big gamble, wasn't it?"

Trystan shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. What about you, what was your first love? What did you want to be?"

I eyed him, gauging if I should answer and then said, "A novelist. I always wanted to write."

Trystan nodded. "Well, at least your job is somewhat close…" he paused, "Do you still write?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you still write? The whole time I worked in corporate America, I still took pictures. I had all these photos sitting in closets and in storage. I finally decided to pull them out, frame them and do something with them, take a shot."

"I see," I said as I took notes furiously.

Trystan repeated the question, "So, do you still write? Is your closet full of unpublished manuscripts?"

My hand stopped, I looked up, "Um, yes, I still write."

Trystan nodded, but said nothing more.

I continued on with the interview, switching the subject to the actual photos in the exhibition. After an hour and a half, I felt I had enough to write my article.

We shook hands and I left. I had to admit, the man intrigued me, and he definitely had an eye for photography. What I couldn't shake was the fact that Trystan didn't seem to recognize me. I mean, he was nice enough, warm, friendly and all, but at the same time he seemed distant and self involved. Oh, but those eyes; I could just melt in them.

I know there are guys like that out there; I have run into their kind before. They are just looking for a hole to put their dick in, not caring about the person attached to it. It unnerved me to find out my mystery man, the object of all my fantasies of late, was one of those.

I'm not like that. Sure I trick, but I always fall in love with my tricks, even if it is just for the few minutes we're together. And I never forget them, at least not their face, maybe their name, if I even knew it, but never their face.

I had to admit to myself that it also wounded my pride. Was I really that forgettable?

TRYSTAN

The article about my gallery's grand opening came out the day before the big event. I was pleased to see it on the front page of the arts and entertainment section. I was even more pleased when I read what Rob wrote.

I wasn't sure what I expected. The look on his face when he walked into my gallery and saw I was the same guy he blew at The Grind a few weeks back—he looked as if he was about to crap his pants. I tried to play it cool, I decided not to mention it, and apparently that was how he wanted it because he didn't mention it either. When he left I felt that the interview had gone well, that we had connected, but still, I wasn't sure.

I'm not sure what it was about Robbie, but there was definitely something there that attracted me to him. He was a beauty that was for sure, and he seemed shy and rather quiet, but when he looked me in the eye, his gaze was so intense. I wanted to know what was going on behind those steel blue eyes. I wanted more.

To my relief, the article was good. He said some great things about my work and was even kind to me. I decided, what the hell, I'd call him.

"Rob Heathly."

"Hi, Rob. This is Trystan Mathews. I wanted to thank you for your article."

"Oh, hi, Trystan. Um, thanks. So how did the opening go?" He sounded nervous.

"It isn't until tomorrow. Are you planning to come?" I asked.

"Oh, tomorrow. Um, I'm not sure. I have a pretty busy day tomorrow…"

It sounded like he was making an excuse. "Well, if you have time. But hey, I called to tell you how much I liked your article and thank you for the great press."

"Oh, well, thanks."

"And to ask you to have dinner with me."

"…"

"Hello?" I felt my heart sink

"Um, when?"

"Friday?"

"Yeah, okay."

I let the breath out that I had been holding and made arrangements to pick him up at his apartment on Friday.

I made it through the grand opening, which was a big success by the way. When Friday finally arrived, I couldn't believe how nervous I was over a simple dinner.

I drove over to Robbie's apartment and he met me at the door. He was dressed in tight blue jeans and a steel blue sweater that matched his eyes. Damn, he looked hot.

"Do you like Italian?" I asked him in the car on they way to the restaurant.

"Yeah, that would be fine," he answered. I noticed a certain tone to his voice, as if he'd rather be somewhere else. An awkward silence fell between us.

I wasn't really sure what to make of him. He was giving me mixed signals. I couldn't tell if he was interested in me or not.

Finally we arrived at the restaurant and were seated at a table near the back.

"Um, I want to thank you again for what you said in your article," I tell him, trying to get him to warm up to me.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks. So how did your opening go?" He seemed embarrassed, like he had forgotten about it.

"Good. It went well," I told him.

The silence was back. We were awkward together and it seemed like neither of us knew how to break the ice. This had to be the worst date I had ever had. I had thought there was some chemistry between us. Maybe I had been wrong.

"So tell me about you," I tried again.

He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know, I feel you already know so much about me, and I know next to nothing about you. Are you from here?"

"Yep, born and raised."

I felt like I was dying there and he seemed to be totally indifferent to the agonies I was enduring. We had made it through a good part of our entrees, when finally the waiter approached us for our dessert orders. Robbie declined, asking only for coffee. I followed his lead.

We continued on with our stilted conversation. I tried again and again to get him to open up and give me a chance. I was seriously wondering why he agreed to come to dinner with me.

Originally I had planned to take him to a club after dinner, but why prolong our suffering? We left the restaurant and got back into my car.

"Would you like to go somewhere to have a couple of drinks?" I waited for him to shoot me down.

"Um, I guess I'm not very good company tonight. Maybe you should just take me home." He did look apologetic as he said it; maybe it wasn't about me, maybe he just had a shitty day. Whatever the reason, the whole evening had put me in a sour mood. I simply nodded my head and pulled out of the parking place.

I decided to make one last attempt as I pulled up in front of his apartment building.

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy yourself tonight. Maybe if we could try this again things would go better."

He looked at me like I was an idiot. "Listen, Trystan, I'm sorry, but I just don't think this was a good idea."

That was when I got pissed and said, "So, what? I'm good enough to blow in the backroom of The Grind, but not good enough to date?"

His eyes went wide. He definitely wasn't expecting that.

"Never mind," I tell him. "Just go."

He looked as if he wanted to say something but then thought better of it. Instead he gave his head a quick nod and slipped out of my car.

I squealed my tires as he stood there and then drove to the closest bar to get drunk and get sucked, in that order.

ROBBIE

Fuck. Sometimes I can be such an asshole. I had acted like a complete jerk, thinking he was the asshole, when the asshole was me.

He did remember me, and I blew it. Boy did I blow it. I owed him an apology, but I didn't know if he would even want to hear it.

For the next few weeks I went out almost every night trying to find him. I needed to tell him the truth, that I was a jerk because I thought he didn't remember me, that I had prejudged him, that I was wrong.

I saw him most nights too, but I never got the chance to talk to him. I could never make eye contact with him, and I was too ashamed to approach him when he was with someone else. He was always with someone and never the same someone, either. Maybe I wasn't so wrong about him after all.

Finally, after a few weeks I gave up, figuring that it just wasn't meant to be.

I did take the question he asked me during the interview to heart. He asked me if this was what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I dug out a few of my old manuscripts and started reworking them. Then I started a new story. I spent all my evenings and weekends pouring over old stories and working on the new one until finally, I was ready. I began sending out samples of my work to different agents until I found one that was willing to work with me.

Then the day came. It had taken months but I was getting published.

TRYSTAN

It had been close to eight months since my grand opening and the fiasco with Robbie. To be honest, I really hadn't given it much thought. I saw him around for the first few weeks after our date, but he never tried to talk to me, nor I to him. Besides, I had been too busy with my galley to worry about some lost love. So when I opened up the paper and saw a picture of him and a short article about how the ex-reporter now had a book signing coming up at the local mall, I was only slightly interested. The next day I walked by a local bookstore and saw a display of the book in the window. I'm not sure why, but I went in and bought a copy. I took it home and began reading it later that day.

When I opened the front cover and read the dedication I knew I was the person he was speaking of. It was cryptic yes, but he was thanking me there in print, for inspiring him. I flipped to the first chapter and began reading. Two days later, having read the entire book, I put it down, and picked up the phone.

Holding the receiver in my hand, I realized I didn't know his home number. I had only contacted him at the newspaper office. I tried information, but to no surprise, his number was unlisted. I considered driving to his apartment, but instead decided I would go to the book signing the next day.

ROBBIE

It was the first day of my book signing and I was just finally getting over my nervous jitters and finding my voice so that I could interact with the customers. I couldn't call them fans. I mean it was my first book, and maybe a few of them remembered me from the paper, but to call them my fans would be pushing it. Besides, there were only a few people that actually came in to see me and buy my book. Most of the people in the bookstore just happened to be there the same day as I was, that's all.

So there I was, sitting in the corner, trying to not feel foolish when I looked up and saw Trystan walk in. You've heard of wanting to crawl under the carpet, well the carpet wouldn't have been deep enough. I felt my face redden as he stopped just inside the door and began searching the room. Our eyes met and he smiled. I'm not sure if I returned the smile or not. Probably not; I was still too busy looking for a place to hide.

"Rob," he said as he walked up to the table.

"Trystan," I sounded so much braver than I felt. "How are you?"

He smiled again. "I'm good. I read your book. I liked it, it's really good."

"You did? Wow, well, thanks," I stammered.

"But I have one question."

"Oh?"

"The dedication, the tall elusive stranger. Is that me?"

Fuck, I was so busted. "Um, ah," I let out a sigh and confessed, "Yeah, it is you. I was wrong Trystan. I totally blew it. I was a jerk to you because I thought you didn't remember me from The Grind. Then by the time I realized that you did, well, it was too late. I had already acted so shitty to you."

He grinned at me and shook his head. "I thought you were uncomfortable about it when you came to interview me. I mean, you never brought it up, so I followed suit. I knew who you were the minute you walked into the gallery."

I frowned, "I am really sorry for the way I behaved, Trystan."

He shrugged. "So you don't think I'm an asshole, after all."

"No, I fear I am the asshole."

"So how about giving me another shot?"

I know I had to have been beaming, "If you are willing to give me another shot?"

A slow smile and, "Are you busy tonight?"

TRYSTAN

So once again I found myself nervously waiting to go pick up Robbie. I wasn't sure what it was about this guy. I thought I had forgotten him, but then I read his book, and saw his face again.

I picked him up at his apartment, and once again he looked hot. "Where would you like to eat?" I asked after we are seated in my car.

"Me? Oh, I don't care."

"Well last time Italian didn't seem to suit you. What if we try Chinese this time?"

He chuckled as a blush warmed his face. "Chinese will be fine."

During the drive to the restaurant he asked me about my gallery. Over dinner we talked about his book. I was awed to think I had inspired him enough to quit his job and pursue a career as an author. I hadn't meant anything by my comments. I was only trying to express why I had left my job, not suggest he should do the same, but he seemed really happy, so I guess it all turned good.

After dinner we went to a piano bar and had a few drinks. Taking him to a dance club seemed a little in bad taste after the misunderstanding over our excursion in the backroom of The Grind.

I asked if he wanted to come to my place for coffee.

"Coffee?" he giggled. "No, I don't want coffee, but I'll go to your place for sex."

"Even better."

ROBBIE

For the next three days I walked on air. Life could not have been better. I was finally a published author, even if my book wasn't selling that well; it was still out there. And even better, Trystan and I were hitting it off great. We talked on the phone, we emailed and we made plans to go out again the next weekend.

My bubble burst on the fourth day when I received a call from him.

"Robbie, you're not going to believe this!" His voice was so full of excitement.

"Believe what?" I asked

"I just got word, I've been accepted to study under Darren Simmons."

"Who's Darren Simmons?"

"He's this great photographer in London. I applied to study under him over a year ago, I just got word I've been accepted."

London? My brain was spinning. "That's great, Trystan. Will you go there to study?"

"Yeah. I'll be in London."

He was so excited, I tried to be happy for him, but all I could think about was how far London was from here. "How long will you be gone?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Six months. Oh God, Robbie, I can't believe I am going to study under Darren Simmons!"

"Wow, six months. What about your gallery? And your condo?"

"That's what my agent and I have been on the phone about all day. I'll sublet the condo and then my agent will hire someone to run the gallery for me. I'll probably have to cut the hours it's open to part time, but still, I mean, Darren Simmons!"

"That's great, Trystan. I'm happy for you." I hoped my voice sounded convincing, because my heart was breaking all over again.

My voice must have failed me, because he caught on to what I was thinking. "Hey, Robbie we'll keep in touch, and I know, six months is awhile, but we can try to pick things up when I come back."

I took in a deep breath and forced myself to be upbeat. "Oh hey, no, you've got to do this. I understand, and yeah, we can keep in touch. When do you leave?"

"Saturday. Oh shit, we were going to go out. Can we move it to Friday?"

"Sure, Friday's fine."

Thursday he called begging off our date Friday night. He had been so busy with subletting the condo and interviewing people to run his gallery that he hadn't even had time to pack. I offered to pick up something and bring it to his condo. At first he said no, it wouldn't be much fun for me to spend my evening watching him pack. Then I suggested a few things we could do once the packing was complete. He finally relented and I spent one last night in his bed.

TRYSTAN

We really did try to stay in touch and we did pretty well at first. Phone calls once a week and emails most every day until we just seemed to run out of things to say. I look back now and that must have been when he met the new boyfriend. He never said anything, but I'm pretty sure that is what happened. How could I blame him? After all, I was the one that ran off for six months. That is a long time for anyone to wait, but a gay man? Of course, I wasn't in a monastery there in London either, but I wasn't looking for anything more than casual sex; just someone to get me through the evening. Robbie found someone that wanted more and I can't blame him for going for it—that was what he'd wanted all along.

My time in London was wonderful. Darrin taught me so much about the eye of photography and I made so many friends. I spent time exploring the city, and found all the rich history there fascinating.

When the six months came to an end, I went back to my condo and my gallery. I had learned so much and everyone in London was great, but it was good to be home. I had been home two days when I saw them. I had thought about calling Robbie, or even stopping by to see him. In the end it seemed a little presumptuous on my part, but still I wanted to see him.

I decided to drive by his apartment. I knew I wouldn't stop, but maybe I would get lucky and he would be coming home or leaving and I would catch him.

Well, the Gods of Gay must have been smiling, because that is exactly what happened. I drove by and he was just exiting his building. I'm not sure if he saw me, but I saw him and the hunky guy he was walking out with. They were holding hands and the guy said something that caused Robbie to smile. Like I said, I can't blame him, but it still hurt, you know.

ROBBIE

I saw him that day. I saw him drive by. We had kept in touch at first and then I met Andy. I liked Andy, and Andy liked me, but more important; Andy was here, not in London. I know how that sounds. It sounds shallow and selfish, and maybe if Trystan and I had had a chance. If we had actually had a relationship before he left it would have been different, but things are what they are, and I wasn't sure if I had anything to be waiting for. So when Andy appeared on my radar I just went with it.

The thing was, I never loved Andy. I liked him, I cared about him, I enjoyed spending time with him, but he and I never shared the same spark that Trystan and I did. So when I saw Trystan drive by, when I knew he was back in town, I knew that it was over between Andy and me. What I didn't know was how to end it.

Andy was a nice guy. He was. He didn't deserved to be dumped on because I was too stupid to know what I really wanted.

The next few weeks it seemed Trystan was everywhere. I pulled into the parking lot at the supermarket and saw him getting into his car. A few days later Andy and I were out dining at an Italian restaurant; I looked up to see Trystan and some lady, probably his agent walk in. They were seated in another area. I saw him at the mall shopping for clothes, at the coffee shop getting a cappuccino, and at the local Wal-Mart buying toilet paper. I don't know if he saw me, I never approached him. I'm really not sure why.

One day I was out doing some shopping when I realized I was in the same area as Trystan's gallery. I decided to stop by. I mean we were friends; I knew he was back in town; it made sense for me to stop by to see him. Didn't it? Besides, this was getting a little silly—there was no real reason to avoid one another and it wasn't that big a city. We had to face one another sooner or later.

I walked in and stopped just inside the doorway. I saw him walking toward the front, toward me. He looked up and saw it was me that had just entered his gallery. He froze, and then broke into this huge grin.

"Um, Robbie. Hi, how are you?" He walked to me and started to shake my hand then changed his mind and pulled me into an embrace.

"Hi Trystan. How are you? How was London?"

"It was great, wonderful. I had a terrific time. I learned so much, it was just so great studying under Darren," he gushed.

"That's good Trystan, I'm happy for you."

"Come on in, I'd love to show you some of my new stuff."

"Okay," I laughed as he pulled me on into the gallery. "Wow, Trystan, these are just awesome." They really were impressive.

"Thanks. So, how are you?"

"Good, I'm good." I suddenly found the floor just in front of my feet very interesting.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Um, sort of." I looked back up at his face. "Are you?"

"No."

"Listen, Trystan, I have no right asking this, but do we still have a chance?"

"Not if you're seeing someone."

I nodded and looked back down. "It's not really working out between us."

He paused a moment, evaluating what I'd just said. "Yeah, well, I have to admit that I was hoping we could maybe pick things back up."

I felt the smile spread across my face. "I'll call you."

He smiled back and nodded, "Not, until it's over with the boyfriend. I don't want to be caught up in the middle of anything, and not unless you're sure."

"Oh I'm sure."

TRYSTAN

The next week I couldn't keep from smiling. It had been more than a year since I had first met Robbie, while he piqued my interest like no one had before, we just didn't seem to be able to get it right. I really wanted to get it right too. Robbie was the first guy in a long time that I could say that about. I'm not sure what it was about him either. I mean, sure he's hot, but a lot of guys could claim that. It was just that he seemed to 'get' me. When we were together he was just so present, so there. There was a spark that I wanted more of.

I was glad he had come by the galley and while I was happy to hear he was still interested in me, I didn't like the idea he was breaking off a relationship in order to be with me, it somehow made me feel cheap.

So I had mixed feelings when he called me a week later.

"Trystan?" His voice sounded sad.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, how are you?"

"Good. You?"

"Um, well. I was all set to break things off with Andy when his mother died. I can't be that big of a jerk."

"Of course. I understand. Does he live with you?" I can't believe I asked him that, but it mattered to me.

"No, we don't live together, we've only been dating a couple of months, but shit, he was really close to his mother and it was totally unexpected, and I just can't dump more on him right now."

"Hey, its okay, you don't owe me anything."

"I know, but well… I miss you."

I smiled. "I miss you too."

ROBBIE

It had been five weeks since Andy's mother died. I knew he was still reeling from the loss, but I felt I needed to end things with him soon. We had plans for Friday night and I toyed with telling him then that the relationship wasn't going anywhere. Little did I know, Andy apparently felt the same way.

"Listen Robbie, I don't mean to be a shit, but I don't think we should see each other anymore," Andy said as he sat in my front room. He had called and said he wanted to come over to talk.

"You don't? Why?" I heard myself ask. This really had come as a surprise.

"We just don't connect. I mean, I know you try, but you just aren't there for me," he tried to explain.

I nodded my head sadly. "I know and I'm sorry. You deserve better."

He looked me in the eye. "Yeah, I do."

I felt like a complete shit as Andy walked out of my apartment and out of my life. What I had told him was true, he did deserve better than me. Maybe Trystan did too.

I didn't call Trystan that week, or the next. I wanted to, but it just didn't feel right. I wanted to take some time and make sure my head was in the right place. I didn't want to be a jerk to anyone again.

The third weekend after Andy dumped me I decided to go out. I guess I was hoping to run into Trystan. I think I was afraid to call him, afraid that after all this time he had given up on me.

I walked into The Grind and over to the bar. Before I even ordered a drink I scanned the dance floor, looking for him. My eyes caught a glimpse of his auburn hair, and then I focused in on Trystan as he led his latest conquest to the back room. My heart sunk. I sat down at the bar and ordered a double shot of Chivas, straight up. I tossed it back and ordered another.

TRYSTAN

He wasn't bad looking, not nearly as good-looking as Robbie, but still not bad. Besides, he was there, Robbie wasn't.

The whole time he was sucking me off I was thinking of another blowjob almost two years ago and how I wish I could go back to that time and try again. Rob and I never had timing in our favor.

Finally I pulled the guy off my dick and mumbled something about not taking it personally. I zipped up my fly and walked out of the backroom. I was headed to the bar when I saw him. He was sitting alone, with his back to me.

"Buy you a drink?" I whispered in his ear as I slid in next to him.

He turned to me, our eyes locked. The chemistry was still there.

"You still have a boyfriend?" I asked.

He shook his head. "He dumped me a few weeks back."

I nodded, "Where have you been?"

"Trying to get my head straight," he mumbled.

"Was it crooked?"

That earned me a small grin. "I don't want to screw this up."

"Yeah? Me neither."

"Do you have any surprise trips to Europe planned?" he smiled coyly.

"Nope."

"So maybe we could try again?"

"I'd like that."

"Me too." He smiled.

"Let's get out of here."

We walked out of the bar and never looked back.

© Melina Catts 2004