I'm Not Gay

3

The word obsession was pretty damn inadequate, Harry thought despairingly as he sank down on his brand new, six-inch-long dildo, suction-cupped to the chair in his bedroom. He was breathing heavily, gasping as he clenched around the thick toy in him. Fuck, it felt so good.

The fullness felt incredible, but it wasn’t enough. He’d found that he liked the feeling of a cock—dildo, dammit—moving in him the best; having one inside him just wasn’tenough. He wanted thrusting. He wanted to be fucked.

Biting his lip hard, Harry started riding the dildo harder, little moans slipping out of his mouth as it grazed his prostate. Fuck, fuuck—

His glazed eyes caught the picture of his parents on his nightstand, and Harry flushed, imagining what he looked like—what his Christian parents would think if they saw him now, riding a dildo like some slutty thing. Shame hit him again, but he couldn’t stop. He glanced down at his thighs trembling with the effort and his red, hard cock—and felt another wave of embarrassment. The glistening head of the dildo looked disturbingly like a cock head as it breached him—

Harry came untouched, crying out in a voice that didn’t even sound like his own. God.

Harry stared unseeingly at the picture of his parents, flushed and out of breath, the fake cock still clenched inside his ass. He wondered what his parents would say if they found out thatthis was the closest thing to a religious experience that he had ever felt.

Bloody hell, he needed help.
 
 
* * *
 
 
“I think I have a problem,” Harry said grimly, nursing his beer.

He could feel Zayn’s attention sharpening. “A problem?”

Harry took a big gulp from his beer, set it down, and looked zayn in the eye. “I haven’t picked up in three weeks.”

Zayn’s eyebrows crept up. “Are you serious?”

Harry nodded miserably. He knew why zayn was surprised, of course. It had been years since he hadn’t gotten laid in such a long time. Picking up every few days was the norm for him. Three weeks was abnormal, to put it mildly.

“Why not?” zayn said.

Harry felt his face become warm. He wanted to say that it was too much effort, but lying wouldn’t help the situation. Zayn wouldn’t be able to help if he didn’t know the extent of his problem.

“If I pick up, she would expect me to fuck her,” he mumbled.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the point,” zayn said, sounding amused, the fucker.

Harry glared and gave him a loaded look. Did he have to spell it out? The smirk on zayn’s face widened.

“Wait. Is this still about your prostate problem?” Harry hushed him, glancing around self-consciously.  “It is, isn’t it?” zayn said, chuckling.

“Ha fucking ha,” Harry said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know it’s funny to you, but it isn’t funny to me at all, man!”

The amused expression finally slipped off zayn’s face. “Sorry. I just figured you experimented a little and then moved on. It’s been almost a month.”

Exactly,” Harry said miserably. He took a sip of his beer and eyed its surface. “It’s all your fault, you know. Yours and the stupid dildo you bought me.”

“So…you put it to use, I take it?”

Harry scowled. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing. Look at me, Haz. Harry.”

Harry forced himself to look at zayn.

Zayn was gazing at him seriously, with that half-concerned, half-affectionate look Harry was very familiar with.

“Hey, you can tell me anything. You know that, right? We will figure it out.”

Harry nodded, relaxing a little. He always did. Back in their school days, zayn was used to taking care of harry’s messes every time harry fucked up. For all the shit zayn usually gave him, Harry knew zayn’s mocking was good-natured, and zayn had his back when it mattered.

“Talk to me,” zayn said firmly.

Harry sighed. “I haven’t picked up in weeks because I don’t want to fuck.” He looked away, his face uncomfortably hot. “I mean, women are great—they look and smell great—but…I’d rather be fucked, to be honest.”

For a long moment, Zayn didn’t say anything. Harry wondered if the ground beneath him could open and swallow him if he wished hard enough.

“I’m sure there are women who would be into it,” zayn said at last, his voice very neutral.

Harry made a face. “I’m sure there are, but how am I supposed to know beforehand that the girl I’m trying to pull is into that? Like, a few weeks ago, I picked up a really hot girl and tried to suggest—you know—and…” He cringed. 

“It didn’t go well?”

Harry let out a chuckle. “You could say that. She laughed and told me she wasn’t that kinky. She laughed, Zee.”

He’d never been so humiliated in his life. Even thinking about it made his cock wilt and his insides clench with
mortification. He’d felt about two inches tall. He still did.

“It doesn’t mean other women would laugh too,” zayn said.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “I kinda don’t feel like giving it another go,” he said with a weak laugh.

“Harry.” Something in zayn’s voice made him look at him. Zayn had a tight, vaguely pissed off expression on his face. “Don’t do that,” he said. “You have nothing to be embarrassed of. So some random woman wasn’t into it, so what? It’s her loss, not yours. What we’re into sexually doesn’t bloody define us. You should never be ashamed because of it.”

Harry gave him a crooked smile. Zayn was normally easygoing and laid-back, but when he was serious about something, he had that single-minded intensity that was hard not to get drawn into. He was going to be a great lawyer one day.

Ridiculously, Harry felt pretty damn proud—proud to have zayn as his best mate. Not that he had low self-esteem; it was just… Harry liked to think of himself as realistic. He was a bit of a loser, while Zayn was so much smarter. Zayn was way more driven than him, more determined. Zayn would go places. Harry…Harry was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He would probably fuck around for a few more years before settling down with some pretty girl, have 2.5 kids with her, and work at the pub until the day he died.  Not that there was anything wrong with that kind of future. Harry was perfectly a-okay with it. Zayn would just have a very different one, Harry was sure of it.

“I’m not ashamed,” Harry lied. “I just don’t really feel like being humiliated again.”

Zayn gave him a long, searching look, his gaze still uncomfortably intense.

“You could register on dating sites,” he said at last. “It would be pretty anonymous. You could be upfront about your preferences that way.”

Harry nearly scoffed, but then he actually thought about it. It was a perfect solution, actually  “I’ll try it,” he said, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thanks, man.”

Zayn smiled at him. “Anytime.”