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Checkmate

During the conversation, I mentioned that even after 11 years, people often aren’t aware that Dylan and I are together. We’re not at all into torrid displays of public affection, and there’s also the fact that I called Dylan my roommate for years. Sometimes I still call him my roommate. Initially I wouldn’t even let Dylan tell his mother that we were any kind of anything, so the first time I met Dylan’s family, his mom set me all up in the guest room separated from everybody. Upon retiring, I paid the price for my primness, and I was lonely. Dylan had to sneak over to my room after dark and later he said, “Can I at least tell my mom?” “I guess,” I said. When Dylan dropped the news, “That’s nice dear,” was what his mother said. Scarlett made a huffy sound. “That’s what you do, Nathan,” Scarlett said, “You hide your wife.” “No I don’t,” Nathan said. “Yes, you do,” Scarlett insisted. “When you’re on the road, you don’t let people know you’re married. You don’t think of me. You put your music first.” Nathan narrowed his eyes and puffed his cheeks a bit. He sat there stiffly deep in thought. “Yes,” he suddenly said, “That’s right. Music first!” “You asshole! You’re not supposed to say that!” Scarlett exploded, adding, “There goes your blowjob for tonight.” A fleeting agitation flashed across Nathan’s face, but he kept his gaze level and straight. He was defeated but defiant. “He’s just talking about what he most likes to beat,” Dylan said. Nathan’s a drummer so Dylan was angling rather lamely for wit. “Well he can have fun beating his dick,” Scarlett said. I covered my mouth to hide a desire to laugh and cleared my throat instead. Dylan and I glanced at each other. I winked and he grinned.

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