Rub Me Raw, Page 3

  I’m an idiot.

  All this time, the truth had stared Simon in the face. He was truly the only one in the relationship anymore. In the beginning it hadn’t been this way, but things stereotypically took a header when Greg hit forty.

  The long, downhill slide wasn’t showing any signs of improvement, either.

  Simon dished himself a plate of leftovers and popped it in the microwave to nuke it. As he stood there thumbing through e-mail on his phone, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Greg watching him.

  “Are you making us dinner?” Greg finally asked.

  Simon forced himself not to look up from his phone. “There’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge.”

  Obviously, it wasn’t the answer Greg expected. “Well, is that my plate?”

  “No, it’s mine. Your arms aren’t broken.” That’s when the timer went off. Simon shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his plate and silverware, and a cup of water, and headed for the living room to watch TV while he ate.

  He was vaguely aware of Greg following as far as the kitchen doorway, staring after him.

  Simon waited until he was settled on the couch and had the TV on before acknowledging him. “What?”

  “That was rude.”

  “What was rude?”

  “Not getting my food.”

  “When was the last time you got my food? When’s the last time you did my laundry? Or cleaned my car? I didn’t mind doing that shit for you before when it felt like you were here, but—”

  “That’s not the point. You always make things about you.”

  Simon slowly shook his head and refocused on the TV. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight tonight. Didn’t have the energy.

  Damn sure wasn’t soothing Greg’s ego.

  Greg didn’t back down. He stepped into the living room and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe we should talk about breaking up.”

  “Cool. When will you be moving out?”

  Greg’s lips actually parted in shock. Not that Simon looked directly into his face. He watched from the corner of his eye while keeping his head pointed at the TV.

  He’d completely discarded the playbook, refusing to let Greg suck him back into their usual dance. Now the man was adrift and clueless how to proceed.

  And Simon was ashamed to admit he could see every bit of the dysfunction between them now, as if he’d taken off a blindfold and discovered that what he’d thought was spaghetti he’d had his hand buried in really was a bowl full of worms.

  Greg had mastered the art of the royal huff. “You sound like you want to get rid of me.”

  “After this weekend, pretty much, yeah. I’m done.”

  It felt sooo good to finally say it out loud.

  To have it hanging out there.

  “You’re willing to give up five years together?”

  “I’m not willing to waste more of my life on a guy who’s too busy trying to recapture his youth and the past to see the guy standing in front of him. I need to be with a guy who feels that I’m enough for him.”

  Greg’s parted lips transformed to a full-on gaping jaw.

  That struck Simon with no small measure of satisfaction.

  “You’re being a real bitch and—”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re being a total fucking asshole.” He finally looked Greg’s way. “Sooner you can pack your shit and get out, the happier I’ll be at this point. Don’t forget your clothes in the hamper. I’m not washing your laundry anymore.”

  “How can you talk to me like that?”

  “Because I’m done. You’ve taken the love I had for you and basically incinerated it. You’ve been progressively treating me more like shit week by week, Greg, and I’m. Fucking. Done. I’m done with you hiding your porn and jerking off. I’m done feeling like nothing more than a fuck toy for you. I’m done feeling like your goddamned maid, and I’m really fucking done with your bullshit. You’re forty-one. Get the fuck over it. It’s not the end of the goddamned world, you big fucking baby.”

  Greg’s jaw snapped shut. He wheeled around and stormed upstairs. Simon sat back, heart racing.

  He would say his heart was breaking, except that event was about a mile in his rearview mirror, unfortunately. Stomped into pieces, ground into dust.

  I’m not backing down.

  The old him, before he snapped that weekend, would never had said those things to Greg, and he would have raced upstairs after him to apologize and smooth things over.

  Not this time, asshole.

  I’m done.

  * * * *

  Simon knew it spoke volumes that he didn’t even care to go upstairs and see what Greg was doing. That he hoped he’d go up there later and find that Greg really was packing, instead of it being some sort of huffy bluff like it had been in the past.

  Now that he’d made his decision, he wanted Greg out.

  Period.

  The sooner, the better. Then maybe his healing could start.

  Finally.

  He’d never thought about it in these terms before. Until that morning, he’d always thought about some gauzy, intangible future where Greg got his shit together, straightened out his mid-life crisis, and they could live happily ever after.

  He’d been bullshitting himself, and he damn well knew it.

  He’d wanted Greg to get his shit together, because Simon hadn’t wanted to admit it was over between them.

  That they were over.

  That he was done.

  Five.

  Years.

  An investment of time and effort he’d been willing to make because he’d loved Greg.

  Exactly when had that also disappeared?

  Simon wasn’t sure, except it saddened him to realize it.

  Shouldn’t he have felt at least a little pang or…something when it died?

  Like an emotional heart attack?

  An against-the-grain stroke of his feels?

  Something?

  Anything?

  It wasn’t any use trying to keep their relationship on life support, either. They were DOA, and only a fool would deny it.

  Add to that the fact that he couldn’t trust Greg anymore. Not when he knew damn well the man was lying to him about the porn.

  What else has he been lying about?

  After Simon finished eating, he rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. Then he checked his laundry, shifting one load to the dryer while starting another load.

  Upstairs, he still heard Greg storming around.

  Better get it over with.

  He climbed the stairs and saw Greg had two large suitcases lying open on their bed.

  There’s progress.

  Simon turned and walked into the spare bedroom, to the closet there. Greg had some things hanging in that closet. So he grabbed them, hangers and all, and carried them into the master bedroom, where he laid them on the bed.

  “Don’t forget those.”

  He turned to leave.

  “I hope you’re happy!”

  Simon fought the urge to immediately apologize over Greg’s tearful tone.

  After considering a wide range of possible answers, he slowly turned. “No,” he quietly said. “I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy for a while, now. And neither are you. If you were, I’d be enough for you, and you wouldn’t feel you have to lie to me. And that makes me very sad. But feeling sad isn’t enough to save a relationship.”

  With that, he turned and headed back downstairs.

  An hour later, Greg hauled the first suitcase downstairs and outside.

  How’s he going to fit all that shit in his car?

  In retrospect, that was another clue there might have been problems down the road, but he didn’t recognize it as such at first. When Greg had moved in with Simon, he’d been living in one of those extended stay hotel places. He’d had some personal items and his clothes and that had been that.

  Greg had moved to Florida after transferring from New York. He worked for a large insur
ance company. In the process, he’d left behind a relationship and most of what little crap he’d had in their shared tiny studio apartment.

  Greg had admitted to Simon that he was paying far less to live in the hotel than he had to live in an apartment in Queens. And he’d been happy to live there—complete with free maid service included—for a few more months while he and Simon dated.

  Simon had been living on his own ever since college, the townhouse his biggest place to date, having rented it two years before he’d met Greg.

  Yes, Greg always chipped in his monthly share of the rent and expenses on time, every time. He couldn’t fault him for that.

  But it was the other things that Simon had to shoulder that would make living alone a lot easier.

  In their five years together, Simon had used that time to pad his savings, so paying the full amount of expenses every month wouldn’t kill his budget. He’d paid off his car and had added money to his 401k.

  Greg was…Greg.

  If Simon only had one set of plates to clean up after, and clothes, and one less person to go behind, it’d save him time and energy.

  Mental wear and tear, for sure.

  At least Greg was a minimalist. He had that one positive going for him. He never bought books unless they were available for his Kindle, music through iTunes, movies through Netflix.

  He had more crap in the bathroom for his morning beauty regimen than he did in the damn dresser.

  Which was ironic, because Greg was always trying to get Simon to throw stuff out or get rid of things, even though the townhouse was neat and tidy and always garnered compliments from visitors.

  Yet Greg was the “messy” one of the two of them.

  I’m not throwing my shit out. But I’ll damn sure throw his out.

  Greg stormed back in, a little red in the face but apparently determined he would make everything fit. He hauled the second suitcase downstairs and outside.

  Simon resisted the urge to get up and help him.

  While Greg was outside, Simon did get up and walk over to the kitchen counter and pull the apartment and mailbox keys off Greg’s keyring. He wouldn’t put it past the guy to “forget” to give them back and then his mail ended up all over the fucking place, or Greg showed up in the middle of date night or something.

  Date night?

  Where the hell did that come from?

  Shit.

  I must have been “done” longer than I realized.

  Especially if he was already thinking about getting back out into the dating scene already, while Greg was still trying to cram all his crap into a car that was three sizes too small for any average-sized human being.

  Less than an hour later, Greg stood in the living room doorway. “Did you want to go check to make sure none of your stuff is missing?”

  Simon successfully managed not to roll his eyes. “Am I going to find anything missing?”

  “I’m not a thief.”

  Simon let out a sad sigh. “Greg, I’m sorry, but I really think this is for the best. You and I are on different trajectories. I can’t make you happy. If you get your head together and get tired of the party scene, and decide to stop lying about the porn and stuff, then look me up and maybe we can talk. You’re not a bad guy. But, honestly? Right now, I resent you so much for making me do those things—”

  “But you liked it!”

  “Doesn’t mean I wanted to do them. I kept telling you that. I don’t know how much more clear I can make it.” He offered him his hand to shake. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  He wasn’t sure Greg was going to shake with him, at first. He finally did. Then Greg picked up his keyring and, from the look on his face, Simon knew Greg realized what was missing.

  “I’ll hold your mail for you,” Simon said. “Until you get a change of address form filed. If you need to keep using this address for a while, that’s okay. I’m not trying to be a dick. We had some good times. But I don’t want to end up hating you, and right now, I’m pretty dang close to that point.”

  Greg sniffled. Simon had to force himself to stay strong. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  Simon inwardly groaned. No. I’m not doing this to myself. “I did. Multiple times. Including this weekend. You never listened to me. Good luck, Greg. I’ll text you when you get mail or if I find something you forgot.”

  He finally left. Simon didn’t want to know how he’d managed to fit the garbage bags of clothes and bathroom stuff into the tiny car.

  Not. My. Problem.

  It felt…weird to know that he’d be sleeping alone tonight. Sure, he could have ordered Greg into the spare bedroom, but that wouldn’t have helped anything, and he knew it.

  He’d tried it once.

  Greg simply ignored him, thinking he wasn’t serious.

  More crazy-making behavior on his part.

  I just want a nice guy who wants only me and likes to spank an ass every once in a while. Is that too much to ask?

  Chapter Four

  Once it was down to only the five of them, and Mark and Jacob had gone inside to watch TV, Victor sat in a folding camp chair and stared at the other four adults.

  “For starters, I promise that whatever you tell me doesn’t go beyond this yard,” Victor said. “I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”

  “That’s a given,” Ev assured him. “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, do you know any single gay male submissives who aren’t assholes or pretending they’re straight behind my back?” He sipped his tea. “Bonus points if they don’t have a secret beard girlfriend for work events where they pretend they aren’t living with another guy and getting fucked and beaten by him on a regular basis.”

  Wylie sucked in a sharp breath. “Yikes. Sorry.”

  Victor shrugged. “Lesson learned. I trusted him. I was willing to make some allowances, but I didn’t know the full extent of how much he was hiding until after we were done.”

  “Well, we’re a pretty tightly knit group,” Ev said. “We take care of our own. Not kidding when I say it’s like having a second family.”

  “This Tilly you were talking about earlier before we were interrupted. I’m intrigued.”

  All four of them smiled. “She’s…feisty,” Ev said. He proceeded to tell Victor about the woman. A Domme, but also a switch…and calling her poly relationship dynamic complicated was an understatement of massive proportions. She had a husband and a partner, but the husband was the Master to her partner, who was her ex-Master, and she sometimes topped…

  He didn’t try to figure it out.

  When they finished talking about Tilly—and Victor wouldn’t deny he already respected her and he hadn’t even met her yet—he nodded.

  “I’m game. Feel free to set up a meeting, or whatever it takes to make her acquaintance. I’m not too proud to admit I need help meeting people, since apparently my partner picker is FUBARed right now.”

  “I don’t know if she’s in town at the moment,” Lara said. “Last I heard, she was preparing to head back to the UK. But we can meet you over at Venture on Saturday night, if you’d like to go. She’s named some of our friends to be her replacement matchmaker proxies when she’s not around to supervise personally.”

  “Or he could join us for dinner at Sigalo’s,” Wylie said.

  Ev nodded. “Even better. Let him meet some of the gang.”

  “For the record,” Victor said, “I’m not poly. I don’t share well. Correction—I don’t share, period.”

  Ev reached over for a fist bump. “Word.”

  “I also don’t care if a guy’s been with women in the past, or even if he’s bi. But if he wants to be with me, then he needs to be willing to be with only me. I am not into women except as friends, and I won’t share a guy with one. No offense, Lara.”

  She smiled. “None taken.”

  “So that’s one of my hard-limit prerequisites. He doesn’t have to be totally subby, although that’s preferable,
but I’m not very bottomy. That means a full-on non-vers Top isn’t going to work out long-term. I’m looking for a decent, faithful guy who’s gainfully employed, reasonably not stupid, and who’s not ashamed of being out in a relationship with another guy. He doesn’t have to be a Rhodes scholar, or rich. I don’t care if he’s got a GED and mans the counter at a mini-mart. I’m not…snooty.”

  By the time Victor left over an hour later, they’d told him as much as they could about the local kink scene without risking anyone’s privacy.

  It proved even more vibrant than he’d hoped.

  It was almost six when he pulled into the parking space outside the duplex unit he was renting. The other side was occupied by the duplex’s owner, a snowbird who wasn’t living there this time of year. The owner used George’s real estate office to manage the rentals, something outside the office’s usual purview, because they were frequent clients, as had been their parents, and George was doing them a favor. Victor could have the unit for at least a year, if he wanted, but there were no penalties if he moved out early.

  Eventually, he’d like to buy his own place. A condo or a house, he wasn’t sure yet which. Probably a house, to make spanking logistically easier in terms of not spooking the neighbors. He did like his privacy when at home.

  Making a living in Sarasota wasn’t a question anymore. He obviously could. The market was active, and he’d even contacted some past clients of his from the Atlanta area who were always on the lookout for good investment properties, no matter their location.

  After the bustle and camaraderie of the day, being alone in the apartment left him feeling…lonely.

  I am lonely.

  He grabbed a shower and rubbed one out, more to help him get to sleep easier than because he was really horny. He hoped by next weekend he’d be on his way to making more friends of the kinky kind with the Suncoast Society.

  Or…friends in general.

  * * * *

  “What are the schools like around here?”