Am I gay?

Am I gay? I kept wondering and asking myself…

I kissed him, and worst still I enjoyed it he’s been in my head ever since…

For the next week I bury myself in work… still shocked about what had happened the last time he was here, I kept telling myself I must be going crazy and that I just needed to be away from him but even in my thoughts he’s there, I close my eyes and I see him how do I get rid of this man? I can’t deny the fact that I enjoyed what happened between us.. his Perfect round ass such a fit in my hands, the kiss was magnificent I was rock hard just from his hands on my nioples and he almost went down on me… that cannot happen again.

Lucas brings someone with him to the next sitting.

I saw it the second they walk in a tall, easy-smiling man introduced as “my assistant, Marcus,” except assistants don’t laugh at everything you say like they’ve been waiting all week for the chance, and they definitely don’t touch your arm the way this one does within the first two minutes of arriving.

I say nothing. I have no right to say anything, and I know it, and it doesn’t stop the slow burn that starts somewhere in my chest and doesn’t let up the entire sitting.

Anastasia is delighted, oblivious, chatting easily with Marcus about some gallery opening they apparently have in common. I sit where I’m positioned, hold the pose I’m told to hold, and watch Lucas laugh at something Marcus says too loud, too easy, my face tighter in anger as I feel my blood boil a little hotter.

I deserve this. I know that too. It doesn’t make it easier to watch.

“You’re tense again,” Lucas says at one point, not quite looking at me, entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’m fine.”

“Marcus, doesn’t he look tense to you?”

Marcus glances over, grinning. “A little homicidal, actually.”

I don’t laugh. I feel my jaw tighten instead, feel something ugly and possessive coil low in my stomach every time Marcus leans in close to point something out on the canvas, every time his hand finds Lucas’s shoulder like it belongs there.

I wanted to beat him so bad and make him disappear, how dare he touch my Lucas… wait what? Did I just say “my?”.

I try to remind myself of the things I said to him and how I could never like him it makes it worse the knowledge that I put that distance there myself, handed Lucas every reason to let someone else stand that close to him.

I make it another twenty minutes before I can’t anymore.

“I have a call,” I say, standing too abruptly, ignoring Anastasia’s mildly confused look. “Finish without me.”

I don’t go make a call. I go to my office and stand at the window and try very hard not to think about Marcus’s hand on Lucas’s shoulder, and fail completely, and hate myself a little for how much space this whatever this is has started taking up in my head.

By the time the sitting ends and I hear the front door close, I’ve made and abandoned four different excuses to go back downstairs and see him before he leaves.

I don’t go down.

It doesn’t feel like restraint. It feels like something a lot closer to loss.