I wake with Romeo in my arms. He’s my roommate and the closest friend I have. So close in fact that his morning wood is prodding me in the side. I’m not home a lot of nights, but when I am, he and I often end up in the sack.

We’re not together. It’s nothing like that. Hell, we’re barely friends with benefits. Or rather barely friends, but with benefits? Who knows? That’s probably why it’s lasted for the past three years. It isn’t labeled.

Romeo is gay through and through but too damn afraid to try to date anyone. He’s a total spaz and spends half his time planning things. He has a complete two-week trip to Vancouver and Alaska planned out but will never book anything to actually go on the trip. He has a desk calendar that’s color coordinated with every facet of his life planned out on it. There’s a five-, ten-, and twenty-year plan mapped out in his top desk drawer. His budget is laid out on a spreadsheet complete with a pie chart for visual representation of his expenses. Most of it is tuition of course.

We’re about to wrap up our third year of college. He and I have been roommates for the last two years. We live in a house with five other guys. It’s a four bedroom and it saves a shit ton of money for us to bunk up in the same room.

There’s seven of us in this house which includes me, Romeo, Kris who is a total dick, Jaye who is like the mom of the house, Gerald who is usually tripping on one drug or another, Art who is goofy as hell but likeable, and Matt who plays soccer but that’s pretty much all I know about him because he’s rarely around.

It’s an interesting living arrangement to say the least. There’s never a dull moment. We just found out a few weeks ago that Kris who everyone thought was straight apparently isn’t on either side of the fence. He may not be pansexual like me, but he’s at least bisexual. Jaye is gay too and dating some wealthy guy in Atlanta.

We’re in Athens and all attending the University of Georgia. None of us knew each other until freshman year, but we somehow came together. I blame Jaye. He collects fucked up people like us. We’re all twisted in our own ways.

Romeo grunts a little which tells me he’s waking up.

To speak candidly, I don’t offer Romeo much of anything in terms of companionship except for the one physical thing he needs and isn’t getting anywhere else. I offer it to everyone else for a price, but he gets it for free because he’s probably the closest thing to normal sex that I ever have. It somehow keeps me grounded to have some good ole missionary in my life.

Inside I chuckle because Romeo would probably have a heart attack if he knew the details of the things I do for money. His family doesn’t know he’s gay and he has no intention of ever telling them. I don’t blame him. My life would have been a hell of a lot easier if I had kept my mouth shut too. In Romeo’s case, he’s so damn innocuous that he couldn’t make it on his own like I’ve had to. This world would eat him alive.

But not me. I’m the type that could be chewed up, spat back out, and I’d brush myself off and keep walking like nothing happened. That’s what it takes sometimes.

It makes me appreciate Romeo all that much more.

His breaths exhale across my chest delightfully. He’s a side sleeper who wraps one leg around mine and lays his head on my shoulder. One of his arms is usually spanning across me and tucked under my opposite ribcage. He’s predictable. I like that. A lot of people in my life aren’t.

When he fully wakes, he’ll bolt out of my bed like we’ve been caught doing something wrong. With how many times we’ve slept together, you’d think he’d learn to accept the morning after, but he never has.

It’s funny; I’m usually the one bolting from other people’s beds. He’s one case where I wish we could stay entwined. I’d hold and caress him, if only he’d let me.

I enjoy the feel of him for as long as I have him. He’s not a small guy, but compared to me at six feet six inches, he’s not big either. I’d call him average, probably about five feet nine or so. His curly brown hair with natural highlights matches his hazel eyes. He has beautifully smooth skin and a well pronounced Adam’s apple that makes his neck one of the most lickable I’ve ever seen. Sex with me is probably the only physical activity he partakes in, so he’s kept some of his baby fat around the midsection and waist. Even with an average frame, he’d almost pass off as a twink if not for his chest being covered in a curly nest of hair. Given that I don’t have any myself, I enjoy it on him. It’s masculine and even though most seem to enjoy my hairless chest, I feel like less of a man for not having any. Maybe it stems back to those sayings we hear growing up. ‘That’ll put hair on your chest.’ Pfft. Not on mine. Genetics, I guess.

Sometimes, before he curls into me for the night, I run my fingers through it. I tend to play with chest hair on any man I sleep with that has it. It’s one of my enjoyments. It’s somehow calming.

On cue, Romeo twitches as he wakes and then rolls out of the bed, spanning the room to his own side in the blink of an eye. As he does so, he stumbles on one of our shoes lying on the floor.

I welcome him to the day. “Morning.”

He’s standoffish in the mornings. “Yep.”

As swiftly as possible, he dresses and leaves the room.

I don’t know if it’s regret that he slept with me again or regret that he slept with a man in general, but the effect on me is the same.

It doesn’t surprise me and I accept it like I would with anyone else. I’m arm candy. I’m fuckable. I’m not the kind of guy you introduce to the family or get too comfortable with.

It’s who I am, plain and simple.