Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

When Trace said all we would do was make out a little, he meant it, and I appreciated that. The evening wasn't so bad and Trace didn't try to ask me about my low self esteem or my brother or even about the results of the baking competition interview. Of all things, he asked me about what I crocheted and when I had started all of that.
I skipped some details about how exactly I got started. "Well, I liked the idea of making things with my hands and I guess that's part of it. Crocheting was how I started but I can knit and sew as well."
"Holy shit, are you serious? Do you make stuff?" Trace sounded a little too surprised.
We had migrated to the kitchen, Trace watching me as I cooked a meal for us.
I laughed while stirring the thick curry mixture on the stovetop. The meal was simple; some brown garlic rice, steamed vegetables and a curry stew with pork and vegetable. Secretly, I was glad Trace wasn't vegan or vegetarian and didn't have any allergies. I could just cook without worrying about all that "Not really, " I continued, "just baby clothes for my nephew, sometimes accessories for myself." I said while I chopped, diced, steamed, and cooked. It was different while I was cooking. I didn't stutter as much and I didn't get so nervous.
The curry was nearly done cooking and the rice was just starting. We were sitting at my kitchen table and Trace sat beside me, playing with the fingers on my left hand. He seemed to love touching me and he traced out shapes on my palm while listening. Trace looked at me like I mattered and like he really wanted to get to know me. So when he asked about me and basketball, I gave him an honest answer.
"No one wants to hear it, but I was this close to being in the NBA." I said softly.
Trace's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yeah, my brother and I were blessed with good genes. Tall, quick, lean, athletic, and we both build muscle easily. My brother was doing well in the NCAA as a sophomore and I was just finishing up high school. My brother's agent was everywhere, always over at our house, filling my brother's ears with promises of what it would be like in the NBA. That he needed to declare for the draft while he was doing so well. But my parents were adamant that he finish university."
Trace nodded. "That's understandable."
"I think so, too. Growing up here, so many people have ideas about what it's like to black, and to be the children of immigrants and how that changes when you're the child of African immigrants. It's different. My parents respect what my brother does, but they also wish he had a degree." I laughed, lulled into a sense of security by Trace's touch. He was still sliding the pads of his fingers across my palm and tracing some tattoos on my forearm.
"Cyrus doesn't care about any of that." I continued. "He just wants to play basketball, that's what he's about. And I respect that drive and determination. But I know it's about the money, too. I know he likes being repped by Nike, appearing on screen, living the life. And he's good. Averaged a double double just last season and he's a consistent starter."
"Hmm, but are you close, really?" Trace asked skeptically."
I shrugged. "We text and call. Whenever he comes back home we always hang out. The paparazzi isn't so bad in Toronto. He's just away a lot. If anything, I see his family more." I couldn't help the smile in my voice. "His wife sucks but I love his kid. Everyone in our family adores that little guy."
"How is it with you being gay? Is your brother—"
I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him, but he was making me feel so comfortable I didn't see how I couldn't. "He doesn't care who I'm into, but he thinks I should have hidden it so I could be in the NBA. Cyrus just doesn't understand. I'm not exactly 'obviously gay' ...whatever that means, but I wouldn't want to hide anything. In a perfect world being gay shouldn't bear as much significance as it does."
"Yeah, in books and TV...all the gays I was exposed to, if at all, were the same. Those white guys who are the 'gay best friend' or some shit. Even growing up in Japan, being gay isn't exactly something that's widely accepted or protected. And I shouldn't have to push myself into some sort of box just because people are ignorant. But, yeah. Blah blah blah, gay rights are human rights. We've heard it in ways so much more eloquent than I'm able to express."
He made an odd expression before suddenly changing the topic and started to rant about the inconsistencies in some Netflix zombie show. I took the hint that that vein of conversation was over. We talked at length about the show while Trace spread his fingers across my arms, still following the outline of my tattoos. His hands were warm and beginning to push at the arm of my T-shirt, bunching the cloth at the top of my arm. Trace's hands started to tease the skin of my bicep even though I didn't have tattoos there.
It was gradual, but eventually the air felt charged and Trace licked his lips. We were angled towards one another I was watching his pink tongue dart out to lick over his full lips.
The conversation had fallen away for a few seconds and in the space of silence Trace leaned in and kissed me. He smelled like shampoo and his hand on my arm was doing something funny to my heart. His other hand cradled my head and I loved the way Trace took control of our kisses. His lips nearly crushed mine, before the kiss became soft and languid. I couldn't take it, and I moaned, loving the feel of his body against mine, and the feel of his tongue wrapped around mine.
Trace liked to lead in our kisses, and it felt right to let him do that. I was comfortable with him controlling the pace and manipulating my body like putty. I was taller and a lot bigger than him but I would never be a dominant person. In fact, it was easier on me if I didn't have to worry about what to do.
Then suddenly, a weird growling noise burst from between our bodies and I moved back in surprise.
Trace's skin was a bit flushed, and he gave me a lazy smile. "I'm sorry," he said with a laugh. "I've been trying not to act like it but I'm starving."
"Oh my God." I said in a rush. I'm sorry, I should feed you. And I should check I haven't burned the rice."
I started to stand and Trace rubbed a comforting hand down my back while giving me a small smile. "I would like that very much." He just seemed so easy going and happy, I wondered if he'd had a funny thought.
"What's wrong?"
Trace gave me a nudge and then a wide smile as we went towards the kitchen. "Nothing's wrong. I've wanted to kiss you all day, and now I have. But wow Darius, you're like a renaissance man, so many talents."
I couldn't help but smile, loving the sound of Trace being so pleased with me and appreciating the memory of just how nice our kiss was.
We made up plates for ourselves and sat at my kitchen table. Trace sat beside me and we immediately tucked into our meal. The conversation was light but comfortable, and mostly consisted of Trace complimenting our meal.
Afterwards, he helped me do the dishes and I realized it was getting late. It had been something of an emotionally exhausting day where I'd told Trace a lot about myself. It left me vulnerable and feeling as though he knew too much about me. My face must have shown some of my inner turmoil because Trace gave me a curious look after the dishes were done.
He cleared his throat. "We're going to keep seeing each other, okay?"
I blinked in surprise, looking away from him and examining the backsplash tiles, and drying my hands in a dish cloth. "Well, I mean, if you want to."
"I do want to." He paused, "It seems like things are harder for you than for me but I want this very much. Darius just—" Trace paused as his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I like you. Not to sound elementary but I like like you. Can't you see that I'm genuinely into you? I'm attracted to who you are as a person and who you are as a man."
I felt like my face was on fire, and I couldn't find any words. "Really?" I blurted out.
Trace frowned. "Absolutely. God, Darius, the way I've been kissing you...I don't know any other way to say I'm interested. Do you like chocolate? I can get you chocolates?"
His earnest tone made me laugh, and I realized Trace was being honest. I got a warm feeling in my chest and it bloomed outwards. I gave him a soft, shy smile.
"Okay, I get it now." I said quietly, staring into Trace's wonderful brown eyes. "You like me. Like, like like me." I sounded stupid but I was so relieved and happy that I had opened myself up to him and he hadn't turned away or hated what he had seen.
Trace finally smiled again and it felt like the world was moving alright again. "Well, come down here and kiss me, Darius, let's go with the moment."
He stretched his arms up and wrapped them around my neck to give me a nice, slow kiss. Just as we were getting into things, he pulled away.
"Wait, I was serious. What kind of chocolate do you like?"
"Dark chocolate." I said slowly.
"...Seriously?"
I rolled my eyes. "I can't really help it, Trace."
"Okay, right. I'll shut up now."
He kissed me a little more, and I loved the way he kissed me. He kissed me like the two of us were on a cloud and in our own world. Soon, Trace began to draw his hips against mine and the friction was so good I let him. We were pressed so closely together I could feel the very excited shape of him pressing against my thigh.
Is that his—?
Wow, things were getting a little too real. I leaned away and Trace's lips came off of mine with a wet smack. Leaning away turned into me taking a step back causing my hip to painfully bump against the dish rack. The plates and pots clattered noisily but luckily nothing fell or broke.
Trace had a bit of a blush on his cheeks and he looked awkward. "I should go before I get any ideas..."
"Ideas?" I echoed, rubbing absently at my hip.
He hesitated, but there was a bit of a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Remember, you said you weren't ready...? Unless...something has changed?"
I suddenly found a very interesting piece of lint on my shirt. I picked at it while speaking. "Oh yeah, that. I'm not... I just—take that kind of stuff really slowly. It bothered Jerem—"
"No offence, Darius." Trace cut in roughly. "Bur, I don't really want to hear what your previous partners thought about sleeping with you." His voice was low and clipped, almost jealous? "I don't really like the mental image of you with anyone else."
"Oh, okay. Sorry." I stuttered awkwardly. "I'm sorry if you feel like I'm a tease." It wasn't like I wasn't attracted to Trace. I just didn't yet feel comfortable inviting him into my bedroom. That was an insanely huge deal to me. It wasn't like I had anything against people who had one night stands or were able to sleep with people easily. I just wasn't that kind of guy.
Trace's voice was earnest like he . "I don't think you're a tease, Darius. I just haven't been with anyone in a while."
"Right." I said slowly.
"...I have dreams Darius, and as of right now you're featuring in all of them."
"What do I do in your dreams?" The question was making me flush and my stomach flip but I really wanted to know.
Trace hesitated. "Darius—that's an unfair question."
I couldn't help but press him. "What do I do in your dreams, Trace?"
He swallowed before pinning his gaze against mine. "The dreams are all pretty similar. We're on my bed and we kiss. It almost feels like your lips are really against mine, your tongue is warm and then you kiss my nose and I laugh. Then you take off your shirt and I finally get to see all your tattoos. I lick down your chest until my mouth is at the top of your boxers. And you tell me to wait. Then my shirt comes off...You play with my piercings, and I love it. My pants feel tight and you take them off." He swallowed again, looking down his body. "My leg comes off. You don't care about how it looks. You like what you see. I kiss you again, and...and yeah." But now Trace was breathless, breaathing fast and looking up at me like I was his own personal angel. He let out a self deprecating huff. "I'm acting ridiculous."
I assured Trace he wasn't being ridiculous, and we shared a nice hug before he left for the night. But, then I started to think about Trace's emotional reaction surrounding his leg, the way he seemingly always wore pants when he was out, and the fact that no matter how long we spoke, he never brought up how he lost his leg.
#
If it was possible for me to be on cloud ten then that's what I was. I was flying. Trace basically treated me like I was royalty, and it was a lot to get used to. Whenever we met up he would always greet me with a hello and a hug. The hug would last almost too long and he would always compliment how I smelled. I wasn't exactly sure how Old Spice warranted so many compliments but I glowed every time he paid me one.
Over the next few weeks we went to the movies, the aquarium, some ice cream shops and frequently to Trace's apartment. Slowly, I was getting more comfortable around him. I still wasn't at a stage where I initiated much but I was more than happy to reciprocate. I especially loved to reciprocate the slow and thorough way that Trace kissed me. Lately, I could tell he wanted to do more but he never pushed me aside from the yearning look in his eyes. On our last date Trace reminded methat whenever we moved to the next step that I'd have to initiate. That's how he would know I was comfortable.
But, even if I fantasized about what it would be like for us to do more than kiss there was a constant kernel of anxiety knotted in my belly. Was he a top or a bottom? Would he understand if I changed my mind in the middle of things? Would he still be attracted to me with my clothes off?
I mean, I exercised, sure. But what if something changed between me being clothed and me being unclothed? Thinking about it was anxiety inducing.
And my skin was a lot darker than his. Jeremy had once commented I was like dark chocolate and comparisons like that were fucked up and gross. I wasn't and never would be a food item.
But the food thing about the past few days was that my anxiety seemed to have taken a little vacation. It was like that sometimes. For a couple days I wouldn't feel mentally ill and then there was usually some sort of crash.
As much as I was hoping about there not being q crash life just doesn't work like that hoping there wouldn't be some kind of crash.
#
I had basically forgotten all about Baking Beasts until I received a phone call in the middle of my shift. I could barely remember what was said until I hung up.
The flurry of movement around me came to a stop and all I could hear was the smooth whirring of the icing machine. There was a chocolate ganache smoothing out in it. It was supposed to be the filling for a double fudge cupcake we were making for order.
"Well?" Maureen appeared out of nowhere. "Was it them?"
"Yeah.." I blinked, lost in some sort of daze. Somehow Maureen's freckles really stood out and I started to think about how it felt to have freckles. My mind was veering in some sort of strange direction instead of the conversation at hand. When I came back to myself Maureen was still talking.
"And I mean of course you'd make it in. And we'll give you leave, Darius, don't even worry about it. The producers told us everything should take about two months if you progress far, and that you've been selected as part of the initial twenty-four. We'll probably get an up-tick in sales once the show airs and you'll be so great. You'll represent the shop, and it'll be good for your career. But we'll miss you, even if it's only a couple months."
The tinny voice on the phone had told me I'd be flying out to LA in three days, accommodations were made and I had that amount of time to sort of my affairs. Announcing on social media I was on the show would get me kicked off no questions asked and I should inform family and close friends I was going on an extended vacation.
Right. A vacation.
"Yeah, I just—" my mouth felt dry and I felt an acute sense of being overwhelmed. God, wasn't this what I wanted? Why did I feel I was going to throw up? Hurriedly, I tied off my apron and forced a probably ghastly looking smile. "I need a second I think. To take it all in. Is it alright if I—?"
Maureen's brows drew in and her voice got a lot less excited. "Yeah of course. Take the rest of the day. Orders are slow, anyways."
I turned around quickly, unsure if I was overheating or sweating or both. "Th—thank you for all the support everyone. I'll try my best on the show. I just need to take it all in."
And then I fled.
I went into the hallway, unlocked the door and ran up to my apartment. The panic attack cane so quickly and suddenly there was a moment where I actually thought I was having a heart attack. It felt like my heart was being violently clawed out of my chest.
Oh God. Everything was such a mess. Such a terrible mess. I was some over sized freak who couldn't even handle the idea of appearing on a tv show.
I was still dressed in my store uniform, feeling my back flood with sweat as I laid on the ground of my living room, and tried to calm down. My tongue felt like it was in knots and tears streamed endlessly from my eyes.
All I could think about was how I was such a mess and that I couldn't handle anything. The very thought of being on the show filled me with terror. I would go and I would fail and everyone would realize that I was the fuck up I pretended not to be. My parents would see their other son baking and failing at it, my brother would realize that I would never be like him, and Trace—oh God. I couldn't let him see me have a panic attack on TV. Everything had been going so well.
Why did I have to be like this?