"What? No!" I stand up in a fraction of a second. I lifted my arms, hands touching the back of my neck, then put them back at my sides before crossing my arms, unsure of what to do with them. An impulsive, raw need to run starts itching my legs but I try to contain it, settling instead of impatiently walking around your terrace. Finally, when the emotions start to come down, I turn towards you. There, sitting in silence, almost peaceful, calm. "No, no. You don't get to say something like that and then stay quiet."

You shrug, knowing it will make me even madder. "Something like what?"

"Something like what?" My voice is loaded with fire, relentless anger coming out in the form of spiteful words. "For fucks sake, I'm talking about your `I dated your father' bullshit. That's low. There are rules here, you know?"

You suddenly start laughing, pissing me off even more. I don't find it funny, not at all. "What rules?"

"The Rules! Like, if you say something like `I dated your dad' then you must tell me all about it, not go all quiet and mysterious."

"Okay," you mockingly show your hands as if to prove you are guilty. You are proud of yourself, aren't you? So proud of getting this reaction out of me after just dumping that piece of information out of nowhere. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Everything!"

You don't reply right away instead, you close your eyes, take in a deep breath, and then release it slowly. Then, you take your glass to your lips but find it empty. That seems to bother you. "Do you want a margarita to b...?"

"Oh my fucking God!" I shout to the night with all my might. You start laughing again. "Tell me the story, already!" I keep my arms up in the air. "And yes, I want a fucking margarita, thank you very much."

"Come on."

I follow you inside the house. We leave the terrace and the fire with the flames behind and go into your kitchen. It is the single biggest kitchen I've ever been to in my life. The white and orange colors strike me as odd at first but they match nicely after a few seconds.

You take out the tequila, lemons, and limes, getting ready to prepare some nice margaritas. I lean against the counter, looking at you.

Have I ever told you how at peace I feel when I'm with you? It may be something weird to say, true, and yeah, I just had a major outburst a minute ago but aside from that: your entire persona brings me peace, makes me feel alive. I have no idea what time it is but there's not an ounce of sleepiness inside me. I feel more alive and awake than I have for a long time. Being with you does that. Yeah, not that I'd ever tell you that.

I am staring at your back and at first sight I can tell you still swim. You were always good at that, so good in fact that my mom tried to persuade you to compete in several championships but you always refused. Guess after your fight you finally listened to her. All that is written in the shape of your back, of how broad it is.

Then, as if it was a prize for paying attention, you lean forward allowing me to see, for a fraction of a second, the waistband of your underwear. Red and black, just like a savanna sunset.

Maybe it's the combination of those colors, or maybe it's the few drinks I've already had, but that underwear really suits you. I can feel the bulge in my pants starting to wake up, reacting to the sight. I take a deep breath, trying to keep it in check.

Once, when I was 12, you stayed over on the couch downstairs. Mom and you stayed up until midnight working and you decided to stay over. I didn't know, I was already asleep. When I got up, I was starving. I ran through the hallway and peeked inside my mom's room. She was asleep. I smiled and went downstairs in nothing but my white briefs. You were there on the couch.

The worst thing was that I didn't see you. I walked into the kitchen and took out a glass of milk. I was drinking it when I heard your voice behind me. You said "ladies and gentlemen, the man of the house," or something like that. I got so scared that I dropped the milk all over myself so when I turned around, not only was my chest completely covered in milk but my briefs were almost see-through.

I didn't talk to you for days after that. I was embarrassed but I cannot tell you how many times I have jerked off to that fantasy. To those ten seconds where I just stood there with you looking at me, at my body, at my briefs, at the milk slowly sliding down my chest. I'm definitely never telling you any of this.

"Here you go," you say, making me pop out of my memories. I take the margarita and notice that you're holding something else. "Scotch," you say and take a long sip.

We both drink in silence, one in front of the other. I can even fathom what you are thinking right now. If my mind remembered the milk incident, I can't possibly imagine what your mind is making you remember right now. Then, a new thought crosses my brain, making me chuckle a little.

"What?" You ask, curious.

"Nothing. It's just that... if you dated my dad then that means that you actually enjoyed all the sex I told you about, right?"

"Are you asking me if your dad and I had sex?"

I almost spill my drink. "God, why would you even say that?" I turn my back on you. "That's so gross, I don't want that picture in my head."

You let out a soft giggle. I shake my head disapprovingly.

"It's so messed up," I say to you. But kinda hot too. I think to myself.

"Are you sure about this?"

I nod. I see you finish your second glass of scotch. You said you needed it to be able to tell the story. I'm taking my time with my margarita. "I'm sure."

"Okay," you take one sip more. "Then here I go... Johnny, I dated your dad."

I nod. "Go on."

"It was before you were born."

"I kinda already suspected that but thank you for clarifying."

Seeing your annoyed expression, I scold myself for interrupting and apologize with a quick gesture. The kitchen inside feels warmer but somehow I miss the cool air of the terrace. I say nothing. This is your story.

"Your dad and I were in college. He wasn't your dad back then, he was just... Scott. We had different majors but sometime around my second year, I decided to go to a party at one of the frat houses outside the campus. It was the biggest shithole I'd ever seen. Guys peeing on the fence, empty cans all over the floor, people passed out on the couch, the whole thing." You take another sip. "I went to the ping pong table. I am quite good at it if you remember so I figured I could play. Of course, they weren't playing ping pong but beer pong. I... I joined them. The night was young, people were having fun and the music was amazing. When my turn came I was playing against someone I had never seen before."

"My father," I say without thinking about it.

You nod. "Scott."

"Sounds like a movie."

"It felt like one," you try to hide it but I catch a glimpse of a smile on your lips. "Your dad and I had a fierce fight, we both drank one cup after another and another. I was good, really good, but he was so thick-headed and hated to lose. We had both drunk nine cups each when he threw the last ball and scored. He won and I was so fucking mad. Naturally, we became friends instantly. We played three more times before falling to the ground, dead drunk."

"So romantic," I comment.

You scoff. "You fell in love with a guy someone paid to fuck you, so shut up."

I put my margarita down. At this rate, I'm going to spill it.

"We left the party together and I took him to his dorm room. We stumbled all through the campus, his arm above my shoulders. Turns out he lived in the dorms next to mine. I managed to get him to his room without him passing out. When we got inside he fell to the floor and told me to come in..."

"We made out that night," you continue your tale, I wonder if you know you are smiling. "I'm not sure for how long but it felt like hours and hours. He asked me to sleep there. We were drunk so it wasn't as romantic as I would've liked but it was way hotter. We were good, really good. The guys in the rooms next door complained the next day if you get what I'm saying."

I notice you haven't taken a single sip of your Scotch since you started telling the story..

"When the morning came, I thought he was either going to kick me out or play it as if it never had happened. Scott, your dad, didn't do any of those things. Believe it or not, he just looked at me, got up to pee, and asked me if I wanted to have another round of hot steamy gay sex before class."

"Hot steamy gay sex?" I ask.

You raise your shoulders. "Those are your own words, I'm just following your lead. But really, we did have another round that morning and another one after class."

"So you just slept with each other daily," my margarita is delicious.

"Not really," you pass one hand through your hair. "I mean, we wanted to, of course, doing it with him was way different than with a woman. But we were in college, remember? We had lots of classes, projects, homework, events, and stuff. Besides, we both had roommates so finding time and place was actually quite hard. We fought a lot though, almost every other day."

"Now that sounds like my dad," I say, trying to land a joke.

"Some things never change," but you are not laughing. "I guess."

"And you fell in love with him?"

You move, uncomfortably, changing positions. "At first it was just a fun new thing. I had never thought about doing it with a guy before. But he didn't walk away like I expected him to so I guess I didn't either. Johnny, you have to understand, your dad is an immature, rude, egocentric, and irresponsible asshole. The thing is that back in college that was seen as something normal."

"And you fought almost every other day..." I mentioned.

You nod. "We fought so much that when he called me his boyfriend for the first time, I was shocked. He asked me to have lunch with him but when I got there, he was with his friends. He introduced me as his boyfriend. That wasn't something usual, especially not back in my time. And that simple gesture, that one word was enough to make me smile for days."

"Your fights stopped?"

"Oh, no, I just fought him with a smile." I can tell you made an effort so I acknowledge it as best as I can. "We fought because he didn't like that I didn't wear cologne, the major I was in, that I called him `babe' once, the fact that he had to pay for half the things during our dates even though my family was richer. I fought with him because..."

"He's an ungrateful asshole who doesn't value what he has?"

"Yes. He's an asshole, isn't he?"

"A big one," I say.

"The biggest asshole."

"The king of assholes."

"He was handsome, though," you try to sneak that comment at me and I give you a warning look. "What? He was! You should take it as a compliment, you took it after him."

I feel the skin in my face starting to flush a little. I don't want you to notice so I play it as a joke. "Are you calling me handsome?"

"Don't try to be smart," you start walking around the kitchen.

I feel the urge to follow you but I do my best to stay in my place, watching you dance around the room. That's how I know we've reached the part of the story you don't like. I don't push you, I just wait.

"We dated for about a semester and a half. It wasn't healthy but it was intense and I was seriously in love. Even before he told me things were going to end, that day, when he led me to his room, I already knew what was going to happen. You notice these kinds of things, you know? You sense them."

I nod absently. That hadn't been my case with Armando, he had literary left when we were having sex so...

"He cheated on me."

I take a step forward, standing straight. "Woah. What?"

"I know," you finally take another sip of your scotch. "I know you expected to hear that we broke up for the same reason he and your mom did. But no. He didn't leave in the middle of the night and disappeared for three months. He cheated on me."

"Woah," I repeat, unable to process it. I knew my father was a dipshit cunt but I never thought he was a cheater. "And he just told you?"

"Better than me finding out on my own," you reply. "Turns out he had slept with someone over the summer. It was one of his friends, actually. I got mad, really mad, not only because he cheated but because it wasn't until November when he told me. Three months had passed before he decided to tell me. That made me furious."

"So you kicked his ass and broke up with him."

You laugh at that one. "Believe it or not, I wasn't that mad. I didn't have a chance. Not because I was okay with the cheating. I wasn't. But because he then said that he was dropping out of college."

I blink when you say that. I knew my dad had never finished college but still didn't see it coming. I glance at my margarita. It is almost empty. When did that happen? "Dropping out of college? Why?"

"See, he hadn't only cheated on me that summer, oh no. Turns out he had a full-on summer romance with this friend of his, fireworks, kisses on the beach, the whole thing. They had sex on the last night of the summer."

"He told you all that?"

You sigh. "As I said, he told me in November, way after the facts had transpired. Why? Because he never had any intention of telling me he had cheated on me."

"Asshole," I shake my head, an itch in my back.

"However, he did tell me. Because something changed. See, the night before he told me, he received a call. Turns out the person he had an affair with was not a boy but a girl. And not only that, she was pregnant."

I feel my breath freezing in my lungs, turning the air into ice, killing me from inside. My heart skips a beat, then two, then I'm afraid it might never beat again. The blood slowly turns to rot in my veins. I don't want to ask, I don't want to know, but I have to. That's when I look you in the eyes.

"Johnny," you say. "She was pregnant with you."

"So that must've been a really awkward wedding for you," I say finally going back outside into the terrace. We don't sit on the couches but on the floor in front of them. I don't know why but it is more comfortable this way.

"I didn't go, obviously," you reply. "I was furious at your father and your mother was still a stranger to me so why bother? Besides, by the time the wedding came around I was already dating a girl from college."

"Oh, so dad was just a phase or something?" I ask, it comes off as mean but really, how else I could've asked that question?

You smirk at me. "Your father was the only man in my life, so far. I think he slept with some others at that time but I think I'm the only one he dated. After that, we both went back to girls."

"No more steamy gay hot sex."

"Sex was still steamy, and still hot, just... straighter," you reasure me. "I mean, yeah, they aren't exactly the same. Both can be wild, and caring but there are differences. Like... you have to ask a woman for a blowjob but men ask you to suck your dick."

I stay there, my back on the couch and my head leaning on its seat. I don't answer, I just look up at the stars above. The fire doesn't help but out here I can see so many of them, so big and far away. I retell myself the story I've just heard, I let it echo in my head, sink into my thoughts. I don't know if I'm happy or not.

"Anyway, sorry for interrupting your story, it's just that I had a feeling your mom had never told that and, of course, you deserve to know."

We each take our favorite drinks, scotch for you and tequila for me. We stay that way for a while until you finally look at me and say: "I'm ready to hear the rest of your story. Still waiting for that Halloween Party Morgan mentioned, and for Armando to dress like a skeleton and give you flowers."

I smile. I am enjoying my time with you. A lot. More than I thought I would. Of course, that's just another thing I'd never tell you.