Hari Cary

The gay community is known for being obsessed with youth, sex, and beauty. It's often joked that once a gay guy turns thirty, he's considered middle aged, that he ceases to exist. When I turned thirty, my already lackluster love life became pretty much extinct. It's true that I have never been considered extremely attractive: I don't work out, I don't prance around in crop tops and booty shorts, there is nothing about my physical appearance that makes me stand out from the hundreds of other - and certainly hotter - guys in the crowd. I'd consider my looks average at best; sure, I get compliments on my white teeth and my big eyes, but being called "cute" is nowhere near as satisfying as being called "sexy" or "hot."

After almost a year of living on my own - at thirty-two - my prospects were drying up fast; there had been a short burst of interest for a few months, but by the summer, going on Grindr was like browsing the Versace website and seeing all of the fabulous shirts that I would never be able to afford: just torturing myself with things that I couldn't have. Nobody wanted me.

Back in the spring, my landlord had hired his cousin to do some maintenance around my apartment. I wanted my Ring doorbell and washing machine installed, and my shower needed to be replaced. I didn't know Cary well, but having him working around the apartment while I tried to sleep didn't make me incredibly uncomfortable, so I didn't particularly mind. He was tall and incredibly thin; his face lined from years of smoking and drinking too much. He had a job that paid well, but he lived and presented himself as a pauper. I couldn't tell if he was just incredibly irresponsible with his money or if he exaggerated how well he was paid.

One afternoon, my aunt and I were out shopping when I got text from Cary saying that he was headed to my apartment to finish up installing the new shower. I didn't have anything of value - other than my cats - and didn't mind him being there unattended, but I was eager to break in my new shower, so we hurried back to my place. When I got home, all I could hear was the sound of Prince's Purple Rain blasting from a speaker. It was too loud for Cary to hear me, so I just put my groceries away and then went into the bedroom, climbing into bed with my cats. I could see Cary's back as he worked in the bathroom; I sent him a quick text saying that I was home.

I was just about asleep when Cary turned around and started. "I didn't know you were there!" he shouted, hand at his chest.

"I'm sorry," I called back, hiding a chuckle. "I texted you so you wouldn't be scared."

"I didn't hear my phone go off."

"Probably because your music is so loud," I replied pointedly. I was quite fond of Prince myself, but I've never been one to play music so loudly that it damages my eardrums.

Cary got the hint and turned it down to a manageable level. He came and sat on the edge of my bed. I'd have found it odd if we hadn't had a started our acquaintance with a weird encounter.

The first time I'd met Cary was the previous summer. My landlord had stopped in for some paperwork and had brought Cary with him. I'd been sitting on my couch gaming; Cary came and sat next to me, uncomfortably close for someone I had just met a few seconds before. My landlord stepped out for a second to take a phone call; when he came back in, he told Cary they had to go run some errands. Cary placed his hand on my inner thigh and hoisted himself up. I didn't make me feel that I was being sexually assaulted, but being an incredibly awkward and anxious person, it was weird.

Cary laid down, his head by my hips. "Your shower is done," he said, sounding tired. I knew that he had been in the hospital recently for something serious; he'd had to live off of ice chips and was even more emaciated than usual.

"Thanks," I replied, smiling. "I can't wait to take a long, hot shower."

"It's so peaceful here," Cary continued, burrowing into my bed. "Sometimes I just need to get away from the chaos at home, you know."

"Sure."

I had heard that Cary and his girlfriend, Summer, had had a terrible argument one night that had resulted in Cary being taken to the emergency room. Apparently, Summer had hit him in the head with a soup can and split the skin open. I knew a thing or two about abusive addicts from my years living at my grandma's house with my uncle and his girlfriend. Cary seemed like a decent guy to me, but I'd never been around him when he was intoxicated.

He started rambling about how his job paid him well and that he'd recently bought a Gucci suit. I couldn't believe that this rugged, masculine guy even knew what Gucci was, let alone owned a Gucci suit. Pinconning is a small town of farmers, mostly Republicans and Catholics. There isn't much culture; camo is considered haute couture, much to my eternal chagrin.

Having a conversation with Cary was like having a conversation with my uncle: it started at one place, then diverted several other ways before going back to the original thread and then going back to the diverted threads. I'm not sure if it's ADD, ADHD, or a product of alcohol and drug abuse, but the more Cary talked, the more I realized that he reminded me a lot of my uncle.

I struggled to keep up with the conversation, but I was having a hard time following what he was saying. It didn't help that I didn't want to be having a conversation; I had wanted him to get the shower situated and then leave, but I didn't want to be rude. I was grateful when he stood up, thinking he was going to leave, but instead, he left the room only to come back with a bottle of whiskey. "Want to do some shots with me?" he asked.

I knew that shots would only prolong the conversation, but I was out of weed and the idea of checking out for a little bit was incredibly seductive. I nodded and went to get glasses. We did two or three shots before we ended up back in the bed, this time we were very close. He put his head on my chest, which made me go stiff with panic. What was happening?

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, his voice gentle and quiet, like a child's.

"Sure..."

"You can't tell anyone, though. It has to stay between us."

"Okay..." My heart was beating in my chest so loudly that it pulsed in my ears as well.

"I'm bisexual."

"What?"

"Yeah. I prefer women, honestly, but once in a while I like to dabble with guys. There's this Indian chief that fucks me; he has a tiny little pecker, but it feels so good when he's inside of me. I can't get hard for a dude's asshole - I've tried - but I love throwing my legs back behind my head and getting fucked."

I sat in silence while his revelation registered with me. Cary was bisexual, and a bottom; was that why he'd touched me so intimately the first time we'd met? Why was he telling me all of this? Did he want me to fuck him?

"I'm not gay, though. I love pussy. Back when Sara and I first got married, we worked at a bar together; we'd take girls home and have threesomes."

It dawned on me then that Sara, a well-known woman in town, was his ex-wife. She was very pretty, but came across as kind of a bitch, at least in my dealings with her.

"She's really pretty," I said, surprised that a putz like Cary could get a gorgeous woman like Sara.

"Yeah, she's hot, but she has a nasty pussy."

"What!? I exclaimed, bursting out into laughter. What did that even mean?

"Yeah, it looks like a bomb went off in it."

I tried to picture what that would look like but only succeeded in making myself laugh even more. The alcohol was kicking in; I hadn't eaten all day.

"I can't ever really tell anyone this stuff," Cary said, nuzzling his head into my chest. "My dad would have kicked my ass if he'd found out."

I felt bad for him, I knew was it was like to have hide that part of yourself; absentmindedly I started caressing his head.

"How's your head game?" I teased, to break the tension and lighten the mood.

"I love sucking dick," he replied. "I just wish the Indian chief had a bigger dick. It's so small."

"I love sucking dick, too," I confessed. "I think it's because I know I'm good at it."

"I am, too."

I was tipsy enough that it seemed like a good idea to be having that conversation. Who cared if Cary had a girlfriend or that I didn't particularly find him attractive? It was nice to just talk about it without having to actually do it or have any kind of competition.

Cary leaned up and pressed his thin lips against mine. I was so shocked that I just sat there frozen until he pulled away.

"Can I suck your dick sometime?" he asked, grinning mischievously.

"Uh...maybe," I replied, still too stunned to comprehend what exactly was happening.

"Damn! I wish I had time right now, but I need to get going soon." He chewed his lip as he looked down at my bulge. "Can I see it?" he asked.

As if on autopilot I unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. His hand when to the front of my boxers and started caressing me. I felt myself getting hard, but I wasn't sure if we should be doing that. Would his girlfriend care? I didn't want to be a homewrecker again.

My mind quieted when he yanked my boxers down and freed my cock. "Mmm, it's big," he said, his voice raspy with lust. "It looks like it would be fun to suck. It's big."

"Thanks," I replied lamely. I wasn't sure what to say or do. I shouldn't be letting him drive home, but I couldn't control what he did. He wasn't acting much different than his usual self, just a little more relaxed.

He jerked me off a little before he stopped and stood up. "I can't, not tonight," he declared, grabbing his tools. "Next time."

I lay there in stunned silence as he leaned down to kiss me again and then breezed out. I heard the door shut behind him and his engine grinding to life. What the fuck had just happened?

I didn't hear from or see Cary again until the middle of summer. It was a miserably hot July day; I didn't have to work, but without a working air conditioner, all I could do was lay in bed - naked - and enjoy what little breeze the fans offered. I had smoked a bowl or two hoping to knock myself out until early evening when it would hopefully cool down enough to be tolerable.

Cary texted asking if I wanted to come over and hang out at his place. I really didn't, especially since I was high; I don't drive if I am impaired in any way. It's better to play it safe than to risk hurting others or myself. I told him that I was high and couldn't drive, thinking that he would let me off the hook, but about twenty minutes later I heard banging on my door, and there he was.

I grudgingly threw clothes on and got into his car. "You need to get out of the house," he told me, driving off. "You're just like Summer, you're always complaining that you don't have any friends and never get out of the house. You're going to come hang out with me for a while; I'll take you home when I come back to town to pick her up from work."

I was uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure if it was because of the weed or because I was being forced out of my comfort zone. I was confused where Cary had gotten the impression that I complained about not having friends and never getting out of the house; I loved being able to spend my downtime alone with my cats doing whatever I wanted, whether it be reading, gaming, writing, watching movies, or just sleeping. I like having friends for when I'm out and about, but when I'm home, I'm perfectly content on my own.

We stopped at the Marathon in town; Cary offered to buy me a pack of cigarettes, but I had quit again. Instead, he got some wine coolers and beer. I didn't like the idea of being driven around by someone who was imbibing, but I knew that there was no way out of it unless I flat out told him I didn't want to hang with him; I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

As we got close to his house, the road changed from pavement to gravel. "Okay," he announced, reaching over and undoing my seatbelt. "Time to get rid of this."

Immediately, my pulse started to thunder. "What? Why?" I croaked, wide eyed as anxiety set in.

"Because you don't need it anymore."

I braced myself, fearful that he was going to start driving recklessly, but to my utter surprise, he maintained a safe speed and kept his eyes on the road. Am I just a hypochondriac? I wondered, willing myself to relax. As a kid, anytime I was forced out my - admittedly limited - comfort zone, I became like a wild animal forced into a cage: I panicked, going completely hysterical; as an adult, I tried my best to avoid putting myself in those situations.

My next thought was that he was going to try to touch my dick or ask for road head. He didn't, instead, he told me about how he liked living outside of town, right on the water. I didn't know the town well enough to really know what he was talking about, but I knew that I'd be finding out soon.

We pulled into his driveway; his house was surprisingly nice. It wasn't the palace that I'd grown up in, but it looked sturdy and well-maintained. As we walked toward the door I could see that his backyard did in fact lead down to the bay. The sight of the water calmed my anxiety a bit.

Cary gave me the tour of his house, showing me where he kept his secret stash of cash - for emergencies - and telling me that he loved me, that I was like family to him. I wasn't sure why he felt so strongly toward me, after all, we barely knew each other; I certainly wouldn't run into a burning building to save him or anything like that. Was it because he had shared his secret with me? Was he hoping that we could be clandestine lovers on the side?

After making me shoot one of his guns - the first time I'd ever even held a real gun - we went out onto the back patio. There was a gazebo set up; he led me there, farting unabashedly with each step. As we sat down at the picnic table, Cary explained to me that this was his little piece of paradise, that his stepson had terrible anxiety just like I did, that what helped him was being out there by the water, away from the chaos of life. He told me that I had to figure out what calmed my nerves and quietened my anxiety. I mentioned that I love New York, but he pointed out that I was afraid to leave my apartment, how would I make to New York, let alone be able to handle all the noise and chaos; I hated to admit it, but he had a point, still, I wasn't ready to give up on my dream of going to the Big Apple.

Cary opened a beer and gave me a wine cooler to sip. "We're not leaving until you finish that," he declared before launching into one of his long, arduous stories - the kind that branched off in several different directions, making my mind reel - once again reminding me of a slightly saner, gentler version of my uncle. I was too high to even attempt to keep up with what he was saying, instead, I just sat in silence and nodded, hoping that enough time was going by that I could get back home soon.

Eventually, Cary started talking about his sexual exploits with the Indigenous chief, putting his legs behind his head to demonstrate how they had sex. A few more farts escaped him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He went on and on ad nauseum about how tiny the chief's dick was, but how good it felt to be fucked in the ass. I wasn't sure why he was bringing all of it up again, especially since he was supposed to be marrying Summer in less than a month, but all I could do was sit, listen, and nod.

I was relieved and grateful when Cary looked down at his phone and said that it was almost time for us to go pick up Summer. He led me back into the house but lingered awkwardly by the couch. "I really wish we had time to fool around a little," he said, looking at me longingly.

"Yeah, it's a shame," I replied unenthusiastically. I didn't really want to do anything sexual with him, especially now that he and Summer were engaged. I figured that since he hadn't tried anything for the whole two hours I'd been there, that I was safe.

"Oh, fuck it." He pulled me down onto the couch with him and started kissing me, his hands going to the front of my shorts. I wanted to tell him to stop, to point out that we had to go pick up his fiancée, but the words wouldn't come out. There was a small, sick part of me that liked the attention and figured that whatever happened wouldn't be a big deal.

Cary pulled my cock out and sighed, "it's not even hard," he lamented, staring at it longingly.

"I'm nervous," I lied, hoping he'd accept defeat and let it go.

Instead, he put my dick in his mouth and sucked it. It wasn't bad head, but I wasn't into it; there was no attraction, no emotional connection; it was just uncomfortably awkward touching.

After a few minutes he stopped and asked me to suck him. I figured if I at least got him off, then he would be satisfied and I could get back home. I put him in my mouth and started to suck him hard and fast, hoping he wouldn't last long.

"No, no," he whispered, pulling my head up. "It's not a race. Go slow. It's about the experience; it's supposed to be sensual."

"You said we were in a hurry," I pointed out, trying to hide my annoyance.

"You're right," he relented, pulling his pants up. "Let's go."

On the short drive back to town, Cary asked me not to tell Summer what had happened. I wasn't stupid; obviously I wasn't going to say anything. The crazy bitch had cracked his head open with a soup can; I wasn't trying to end up in the emergency room myself. I promised him that I wouldn't.

"We're running late," he pointed out, pushing harder on the accelerator, "I'm going to have to pick her up before I can drop you off."

Anxiety shot through my body. How were we even going to explain why I was there? Surely, she wouldn't believe that Cary was hanging out with a gay guy fifteen years younger than he was.

As we pulled up outside of her work, I spotted her sitting out front, smoking. The second the car was stopped, I hopped out and scrambled into the back seat, feeling a target emblazoned on my back.

"Summer, this is Gabe," Cary said when she got into the car. I couldn't tell if it was actually awkward or if I was just perceiving it that way, but I wanted to get as far away from those two loose cannons as I possibly could. I considered just walking the rest of the way home; it was only a little after three in the afternoon, traffic was light.

"Hi," I said lamely, trying to sound relaxed and casual.

"Hey," she replied.

Cary whipped the car around into the grocery store parking lot. "We're out of liquor, will you run in and get some?" he asked Summer, turning to face her. "Gabe, you go with her. You two need a chance to get to know each other."

I didn't know why he insisted that I become friends with this woman, but I didn't have the strength to argue; I just wanted to go home and see my cats, burrow into my safe space, and relax. I followed her into the store, unsure of what to say or do. We didn't really talk; it seemed that she was as disinterested in getting to know me as I was in getting to know her; at least we were on the same page about something.

Back in the car, we were waiting for the light to turn green when Cary turned to Summer. "You didn't even give me a kiss," he said, leaning in close to her. She gave him a wet peck on the lips. "Do I taste different? I had Gabe's dick in my mouth right before I picked you up."

My head whipped up. "What? No!" I exclaimed, breaking out into an immediate sweat. Why was he telling her that? He'd told me not to tell her about our tryst!

"I'm just kidding," he replied, laughing gregariously.

I felt relief flooding me as we pulled up outside of my apartment. "Are you sure you don't want to come back to our place and hang?" Cary asked, watching me in the rearview mirror. "I've got some rum. We could have some drinks, make some tacos..."

"No, thanks." I opened the door and got out while I still had a chance. "My dad is supposed to come over and hang out for a bit." It was a lie, but Cary wouldn't know that my relationship with my dad was tense, barely there.

"Okay, another time then," he continued, unaware of how desperate I was to get away from him.

"Yeah, sure."

I hurried inside, not fully relaxing until I was safely inside with the door locked. I wouldn't say that Cary had raped me, but it wasn't completely consensual either; he was oblivious to my obvious discomfort and lack of interest.

A year went by before Cary started reaching out again. I'd heard that he and Summer had broken up - I wasn't surprised - and that even though he had chronic issues with his kidneys, which meant he shouldn't drink, Cary was hitting the bottle hard. One day, he texted me asking if I was interested in moving into his place; he was going to be working out of town a lot and needed someone there to look after the house and the cats - no gay shit. I politely declined, knowing fully well that if we were roommates, he'd take advantage of it and end up climbing into my bed, desperate to suck my dick or get fucked by me.

He started blowing my phone up one day, telling me that he wanted to suck my dick; I was grateful for once that I was at work. I told him I was at work until late that night and wasn't available, but he persisted, saying that I could sneak out for a quickie. I really didn't want to, and tried telling him that, but before I knew it, he was standing in the lobby, eying me pointedly.

I told my coworker that I had to run home for a second; made up a lie about how my shower was acting up and since Cary was the one to install it, he'd agreed to look at it for me. We hurried to my apartment and I lay on the bed as Cary pulled my cock out and started sucking it. As his mouth moved up and down on my dick all I could think about was how I was supposed to be working, how I hoped that my coworker wasn't getting slammed with orders while I was laying there, hoping I could cum quickly. After I finished, he kissed me lightly on the lips and left; I felt dirty, used, angry with myself for not being strong enough and brave enough to say no.

I enjoyed the periods when Cary maintained radio silence; I convinced myself that he had lost interest, that I wouldn't have to deal with him again; he was an okay guy, but I didn't like how unrelenting he was when he wanted me. I didn't want to be a drama queen and make him out to be a stalker or a rapist, but he was close.

The weekend after Hanukkah and Christmas that year, I was finishing up at work when Cory stumbled through the back door, scaring me. It didn't take a breathalyzer test to see that he was incredibly intoxicated. I was thankful that for once, I actually had plans after work. Sure, going to Bay City to get groceries didn't exactly constitute "plans," but I needed to get water and Lean Cuisine; I wouldn't brook any arguments.

I had just clocked out when he threw himself into my arms, giggling. "Take me to bed!" he slurred, grabbing me tightly so that he didn't fall to the floor. "I just wanna cuddle a little bit. I need to lay down."

"I can't hangout tonight," I told him firmly, rolling my eyes. "I have to go to Bay City and do some shopping."

"Just for a few minutes..."

I walked him to my apartment, fully planning to give him my last water bottle before kicking him to the curb. I wasn't putting up his bullshit anymore, certainly not that night. I hadn't asked him to get drunk and then show up at my place of employment; if he had to drive drunk to get home, that was his choice and his problem.

When I turned around, he was face down on my bed, snoring. I hurriedly changed before going and shaking him awake. "Cary, you have to go," I said sternly. "I'm leaving."

"I just need to lay down for a minute." He cracked his eyes open and held his arm out toward me. "Come cuddle."

"No, I'm leaving and you need to leave, too."

He was snoring again before the sentence got out of my mouth. I gazed down at him furiously, wishing that I was strong enough to pick him up and carry him to his car; he was light enough that if I worked out even occasionally, I probably could have.

After several attempts to rouse him - foiled, of course - I called my landlord, his cousin. My landlord listened to my bitch and gripe about his cousin before saying that there wasn't really anything that he could do, that Cary wouldn't steal anything. I wanted to scream, frustrated that the one person who actually could help me wouldn't, but I also understood - however grudgingly - that he didn't want to get involved in the drama.

I ended up running to Bay City and doing my shopping. I hoped that when I got home, Cary would have woken up and left, but much to my chagrin he was still face down, snoring in my bed when I got home. Still pissed, I microwaved a Lean Cuisine and set up on my couch, watching TV and smoking a bowl. I stayed out there until about 2 AM before I felt the overwhelming need to lay down.

I shook Cary awake - not at all gently - and this time when he roused, he stayed up. "What time is it?" he croaked, his throat dry from dehydration.

"It's after two," I replied shortly, clenching my jaw with irritation.

"Oh, shit, I should get going." He stood up, swaying a little until he got his balance. "I'm gonna take a piss and then I'll leave."

I busied myself tidying up for a few seconds before I noticed that I didn't hear the familiar tinkling of urination. I passed by the bathroom to see Cary sitting there in the dark, his pants around his ankles. When he saw me, he grinned and waved.

I started stripping the bed, not caring if he saw and was offended. As I wadded up the blankets, a baseball cap fell onto the floor; it was obviously Cary's. I brought it over to him, handing it to him silently. As he walked out he lit a cigarette and then turned back to face me. "I'm having a New Year's party this weekend," he said, exhaling. "I really want you to come."

"Maybe."

"Come on, there's going to be a taco bar, liquor. It'll be fun!"

"Maybe."

"I know that your maybe means no," he confessed, "but I'd really like to see you there. I never see you anymore."

"I'm busy," I replied, trying to hide my complete annoyance with his ridiculous antics. Why couldn't he see that I was not even remotely interested? All I wanted was for him to go away and leave me alone, was that too much to ask for?

"Promise me you'll at least try."

"I'll try."

As he walked out, I locked the door behind him, vowing that I would never put myself in a situation where I'd have to deal with him again.

Cary disappeared again; I heard from my landlord that he'd gotten a new girlfriend and that they were working out in Alaska. I was overwhelmed with joy not only that he had found a new girlfriend, but that he was so far away. I wouldn't have to worry about him blowing my phone up or showing up at my job or my doorstep. For the first time in a while I felt free.

I was fully enjoying my liberation that spring. My newest cat, Jareth, had died that winter; after going off of my Zoloft, I'd lapsed into a bad, manic depression, wracked with guilt that I had been unable to save him. By spring, though, I'd gotten back on my medication and having buried Jareth, I was finally accepting his death and finding comfort in the fond memories that we had shared.

One spring day, I was at work - alone - when my phone started ringing. I didn't recognize the number, so I declined the call. A few seconds later, the same number called again. I don't give out my number, I knew that it wasn't anyone that was trying to reach me. I declined the call once again but scowled in frustration when the person started calling me for a third time. I decided to let it ring, figuring they'd leave a voice mail.

After a few seconds, nothing happened, so I texted the number. If I could work out who it was - and let the person know that they had the wrong number - I could go back to enjoying my music, instead of listening to the same snippet of "Imagine" by Ben Platt that was my ringtone,

Who is this?

Its cary, I wanna suckyour dick. Want you here, get here.

I immediately felt trepidation set in. I hadn't even known that he was home. We hadn't talked in four months; I'd thought that maybe he'd gotten the hint and decided to move on with his life.

The number called again; this time I answered, knowing that he wouldn't give up until I at least talked to him.

"Shut the store down and come over," he said as soon as I picked the phone up.

"I can't," I replied, trying to keep my tone light. "I'm at work."

"Come on, quit being such a pussy. Shut the store down and get over here. I wanna suck your dick."

"I can't. There's orders, I can't just disappear."

"Yes, you can. He won't care if you shut down for a bit. Come on, please, I really want to taste you. You have such a nice dick."

"I really can't."

It took everyhing I had to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Maybe it was the time away from him that had cooled my strong dislike for him, or the voice in my head that told me that it was my fault, that I hadn't shut it down that first day, that I'd encouraged it.

The delivery driver walked in the back door and shot me a quizzical look. Although I am often on my phone - texting or online shopping - I'm not often talking on the phone unless it's my boss. I shot the driver a pleading look and switched the call to speakerphone so that he could hear it, too.

"Just for a little bit," Cary whined. "I want to suck your dick. It's been so long. You have a big dick. I'm going to SUCK YOUR DICK!"

The driver and I shared shocked looks and giggled over the emphasis he'd put on 'suck your dick.'

"I'm not shutting the store down," I said, using the tone of a patient teacher with a kindergartener. "Besides, I heard you have a girlfriend."

"She's cool, you'll love her. She's down to watch. She thinks it's hot that I like to suck dick."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Oh, God, I thought, shaking my head. How does this shit show just keep getting worse!?

The girlfriend said something in a raspy, smoker's voice that I couldn't quite catch.

"I can't come pick you up this time," Cary continued, "we've been drinking. Just shut the store down and come here. I'll be watching for you."

"No!" I said forcefully, slamming my hand down on the counter. "I am not shutting the store down for that. I have a boyfriend, anyway. We aren't open."

"Oh." He sounded truly disappointed. "I guess I'll leave you alone then."

I felt victorious as he ended the call. Was that all it took to get Cary to leave me alone? I could've lied this whole time and he would've just stopped? I didn't even feel bad that I was crushing his dreams; for too long I'd allowed myself to be made uncomfortable by him. No more.

Cary must have been deeply hurt by my rejection, because I didn't hear from him until January of the following year. Once again, I was at work when I got a Facebook message. I sighed, figuring it was from a coworker who sent me numerous reels a day - while he was smoking, while he was supposed to be making dough, while he was sitting on his ass in the back studying for his drone certifications instead of doing actual work. I was surprised to see that it was from Cary.

Call me, I'm craving you, come see me.

R u still with that guy? Bring him too if your with him still, I want to taste you again.

Call me.

Wyd?

I groaned in exasperation, making my coworker turn to me. It was the same kid who had been there for the last awksard phone call. I looked at Lance and sighed. "It's Cary again. He's 'craving me.' I don't know why he's so obsessed with me."

"He's fucking weird," Lance agreed, shaking his head.

Lance was a bisexual virgin, having graduated the previous spring. He was a nice enough kid, but could be incredibly stupid, lacking any sort of common sense. Sadly, he reminded me a lot of myself at that age: no real-world experience, clueless to how to be good at the job.

"Do me a favor," I said, an idea forming in my mind as the words left my mouth.

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Look, you claim to be bisexual, so just go along with it. Smile."

I crossed over to where he was standing by the oven. I leaned forward from behind him, burrowing my face into his neck as I snapped a picture. For the second, I bit his neck; Lance stood there with an uncomfortable grin on his face.

I sent the pictures of Cary, who opened them immediately.

Baby boy doesn't want to share the dick. No go. Sorry.

Cary read the message as soon as it was delivered but didn't respond. A rush of dopamine flooded my veins as he blocked me. I had done it! I was finally free!

It's been a little over a year since I've heard from Cary. He still has me blocked on Facebook; I don't mind. The more that I think back on my experiences with him, the more I realize how uncomfortable the whole thing really was. I don't technically classify it as rape since I acquiesced and let him touch me, but I did it to shut him up and get him to leave, not because I actually wanted to.

I hope that Cary has been able to get himself clean and get his life together; the last I heard about him, he'd broken his wrist or his arm - so probably not. Thankfully, I was able to avoid him last May when I went to my friend Mariana's graduation ceremony; he was there, too, because his daughter was also graduating.

I wish that I had been strong enough to say no from the beginning; I could have saved myself so much turmoil and stress. I don't think that Cary is a bad guy, but he's far too chaotic and unpredictable for my taste. I like to go home from work and sit in silence, reading, or snuggled up in bed with my cats watching TV, not getting wasted and acting like a fool. I like my routines and the comfort I find in them.

One good thing that has come from the whole experience is that I have learned how to trust my gut; if a situation makes me uncomfortable, I get out of it. I don't force myself to be touched out of pity or fear. I am in control of my body and my sexuality; no one has the right to push themself on me or make me feel like I have to put out. I am stronger because of Cary; I am immensely proud of that. Some people are unable to break free, incapable of knowing that they can do better, that it's not their fault. I know that while I had technically allowed Cary's misdeeds with my silence, I deserve better and I don't have to allow it to continue. I am strong enough now to protect myself and let my voice be heard.