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I hung my outfit in the kitchen and looked at it critically for the eighth or ninth time today. I wondered what everyone was going to think about me. I was new in town, new at the job, new at school. And nervous about all of it.

I had been teaching art at an after school program for older kids in California for the last three years. I loved it, but I wanted to be in a real school. That had always been the dream.

I’d finally gotten an interview for a dream job I found online. I usually spent four to five hours a week searching for jobs online. The dream job was happening after all this time.

I’d moved to Seattle to take this job at the Volari Academy, a private college preparatory high school. I was going to be teaching advanced art to gifted teenagers. It was a dream job and I started tomorrow.

I barely slept but I was too excited to care. I wore my carefully curated outfit that said both professional and artistic. I usually wore jeans while teaching, so this was a big change. The first of many, I worried to myself. I fought down the anxiety.

Not only had I moved to a new city to start a new job, but I’d recently become single for the first time in over a year.

Hudson had supported my dream job search, always encouraging me. Then I landed the job, on the same coast, and he’d acted like it was a fresh concept to him. He refused to even discuss moving or trying long distance. He’d left me, like a fucking coward.

I stood in the fanciest teachers lounge I’d ever seen, pouring myself some coffee at just after six in the morning. I was one of the first people in the building and I loved that quiet moment at the start of a day. I explored a little while I was alone.

Soon enough the other staff members and faculty started to arrive. I met a lot of interesting, highly intelligent people. It was all a blur after ten minutes. I hoped my first class was easier.

“Tristian? Right?” A tall man said as he joined me in the hall, heading towards my classroom. I’d been here to set it up last week, which made me feel more comfortable, at least a little.

“Yes, that’s right. Tristian Kellner. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.” I smiled apologetically. This guy seemed relaxed and casual, so I hoped he’d be cool about it.

“That’s because I haven’t told you my name. I knew you were being bombarded by the whole staff. Fresh meat, and all.” He gestured at me when he said it. “I’m Porter Kostas. Biology.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. Kostas.” I smiled, really looking at him for the first time. He was tall, several inches over six feet. He had thick brown hair and grey green eyes. As an artist, the color left an impression in my mind.

“Please, call me Porter. It’s pretty relaxed around here. Even the kids call me Porter.” As he said it, he got approached by a group of students, all joking and laughing with him. He must be a fun teacher. Or just a really great teacher. Kids gravitated to both.

“This is me. See you later Porter.” I said as I reached my classroom. I stopped to watch him and his fan club continue down the hall.

In my classroom, I took a deep breath and tried to relax my shoulders. I had about forty-five minutes until my first class started. I put on some soft music near my desk where I sat and reviewed my lesson plan.

My first two classes were freshmen. I felt more relaxed knowing it was their first day here too. They didn’t really sense my first day nerves over their own, which gave me a boost of confidence.

The day went by very smoothly. The students seemed really receptive to my new and innovative art projects that I had laid out for them in my syllabus.

Just like the after school program I’d taught in California, these students were here mostly by choice, so they were far more receptive than your standard public school kids. Or even lots of private school kids. This was a school you had to apply to and the tuition was as much as an excellent university. These kids were exceptional.

“I heard good things from the kids.” A voice said from the door. My last class ended about fifteen minutes ago and I was cleaning off my desk and making some notes on my laptop.

I looked up and saw Porter leaning in my door jam. When I made eye contact, he stood and walked towards me. With a successful day behind me, I was feeling confident and happy. His comment made me feel even better.

“That’s nice to hear.” I smiled at him as he got closer to my desk. “The kids were great all day.”

“If that’s the case, they really must have liked you. They can make life hard for new teachers and substitutes. Trust me.”

“I’ll count myself lucky. How was your first day? How long have you been teaching here?” I realized I was dying to talk to an adult. A whole day of classes versus a few hours in the afternoon, was a lot more exhausting than I’d imagined.

I knew I’d adjust to the new schedule pretty quickly, but the first few weeks were going to be brutal. I would be tired a lot until I got the lay of the land.

“First day was almanbahis good. It’s always nice to see the kids again. This is my eighth year at Volari. Seventh teaching Biology. I taught a health class the first year. It was a good foot in the door position.”

“I was always good at biology. I almost went to medical school instead of becoming a teacher.” I said as I packed up my bag.

“Doctor to art teacher. How does that happen?” He asked with amusement in his voice.

“There’s lots of doctors in my family, so it was the expected plan. My first year in college I experienced an acute loss and I didn’t want that feeling to be part of my future career.” I hoped he wouldn’t press the issue.

“I guess art is about expression and whatever feeling you want it to be. Medicine can definitely be sad and hard on the soul.” Porter agreed, more subdued now.

“I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. It was a great day, after all.” I smiled, trying to turn this conversation around.

“Of course. I’m the one that asked, so I’m sorry about that. You moved here from California, right?” Porter smoothly changed the subject.

“I was the one that gave the overly honest answer, so I’ll take some of that blame.” I smiled at him. “Yeah, San Francisco.” I stood at my desk now with my bag over my shoulder.

He read my body language and walked with me to the door as I flipped off the lights. “Did you find a place already? When did you get into town?”

“I moved up here just a few weeks ago and I rented a place until I can learn more about the area.” I offered.

“Smart. If you need help finding a place, I’m kind of a real estate buff and I’ve lived here my whole life. I know every neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Porter. I’ll keep that in mind. I’m going to head home and process the day. I appreciate you being so nice to me. I felt like I had a friend.”

“You do have a friend. I was drawn to you the second I saw you. I’m a great judge of people and you seem like a good guy.” Porter said as we passed through the office to the staff parking lot.

We said goodbye and he climbed into his fancy sports car. No teacher’s salary I’d ever imagined could cover that, but at Volari, I guess maybe it could, after eight years anyway.

The rest of the week flew by and I was as exhausted as I expected, but it was so worth it. It really was a dream job. The kids were amazing. The facility was incredible. And Porter made me feel like I’d always been part of the team.

Porter and I sat and had lunch together in the teacher’s lounge Tuesday through Friday that week. He was hilarious and everyone seemed to adore him, students and teachers alike.

He wore jeans everyday other than that first Monday, so I wore jeans on Friday. Fridays at Volari were fantastic. The culinary students made lunch on Fridays and everyone acted like we were in some teen movie. It was ridiculously perfect.

After two weeks, I found myself texting with Porter over the weekend and weeknights. He was so easy to talk to. We had a lot in common and he made me feel comfortable, like no one else ever had.

On Wednesday of the third week, Porter asked me to dinner. His favorite tapas place was opening a new outdoor deck that overlooked Puget Sound. I agreed and met him there at six. Over dinner the conversation was much more “date” like than any we’d had before.

I learned that Porter was 38. He’d played baseball in college and almost turned pro until he was diagnosed with a seizure disorder that ended his career even though it was managed with medication.

He always wanted children but it never happened for him and he didn’t really think about it much anymore with his career being all about kids. He also mentioned that he felt lonely a lot. His eyes turned soft when he said it.

“I’ve felt so much less lonely since meeting you, Tristian. You’re quite an amazing person and I’m so happy I met you.” His hand touched mine on the table as he said it.

“You’ve made the transition much easier than I ever expected. I didn’t expect to make such a great friend so quickly.”

Porter recoiled at the word “friend” but he recovered quickly and played it off. I really liked the guy, but I had just started a new life with a new job in a new place and ended a year long relationship. I wasn’t ready for more.

I hoped he would understand. I also really hoped I was reading the whole situation wrong. He was just being nice. Maybe he wasn’t hitting on me at all.

The next few weeks went back to normal. We ate lunch together and texted all the time. Everything seemed good, which made me really happy.

I was liking Porter more and more all the time. He seemed to understand I needed to take things slowly and he never pushed too hard. We had dinner together most Wednesday nights. He showed me wonderful places all over the city.

I’d been here for seven weeks and I felt like I was fitting into this whole new life. I had plans for dinner with Porter since it was Wednesday and I thought maybe tonight was the night almanbahis yeni giriş I’d kiss him.

Porter acted off at dinner, quieter and more subdued than normal. I finally asked him what was wrong.

“I think people at work are starting to think something’s going on between us.” He looked at his hands as he said it.

“Okay, is that a problem? We’re not really “dating”. Is this against the rules?” I didn’t know where this was going. I felt like he was breaking up with me even though we weren’t a “thing”.

“It’s not expressly against the rules, but it’s frowned upon. I don’t want you to end up in the firing line your first semester, so we need to cool it. At least at school.”

“Okay, so does that mean we won’t eat lunch together anymore?” I loved that midday time with him. It had become my routine and I hated the thought it was over.

“We can still eat together, but we shouldn’t act so close, if you know what I mean. We should act like friendly coworkers. But outside of work, we can be ourselves.” He looked a bit sheepish, clearly worried about how I’d react.

“Okay, that sounds fine to me. I don’t want you to worry at work, that’s for sure. I guess I’ll stop laughing at all your jokes.” I smiled at him, trying to ease the mood.

“Like you could.” He kidded back with me.

Over the next few weeks we still ate lunch and chatted before and after school, but it was definitely more sedate than it had been. He seemed relaxed again, so it was worth it. Especially since our texts were getting more flirty all the time.

“I’m excited about tomorrow.” His text said. It was Friday afternoon and it was my last class of the day. I grinned at my phone while trying not to draw attention to it.

“About helping me paint my kitchen?” I texted back.

“That and spending the day with you.”

I was excited about that too. I had wanted to kiss him several weeks ago, but that was the night he put the brakes on, so I hadn’t gone for it. Maybe this weekend, I thought to myself.

“We’ll see if you still like me after I make you cut in around the ceiling.”

“You only want me because I’m tall. I see how it is Tristian.”

I loved our back and forth and now that it was always secret, it felt extra exciting.

“Tall and available tomorrow. My perfect man.” I caught myself biting my lower lip as I answered, loving the light flirting. I realized I still had kids in my room, so I fought down my excitement.

“Pretty sure you’re the perfect man.” Porter replied, making my stomach flutter.

The bell rang and my last class was finally over. It had been the longest day. I’d never been so excited to do a home improvement project.

“I’m heading out for the weekend. I’ll talk to you Monday.” Porter said as he stopped by my room on his way out. I casually waved goodbye to him to further our act for anyone who might be watching.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. See you bright and early. I’ll bring coffee.” Porter texted less than five minutes later. He was probably in his car in the parking lot. I loved that he was always thinking about me.

“I can’t wait either. I wish I could text you tonight, but I know you have family stuff to deal with.”

“If there’s a break during dinner at my brothers, I’ll text you. I’ll be thinking about you the whole time.”

“Is that your boyfriend?” A voice said from the door. My head snapped up.

“What?” I looked at the student who’d come into my classroom without me hearing her. Her name was Shelby and she was one of my best students. She often came by in the afternoons.

“You were grinning like an idiot and looking at your phone. Was it your boyfriend?” She said as she set her bag down and grabbed her project from the shelf.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” I answered and tried to get back into teacher mode.

“Oh, okay, if you say so Mr. K. Maybe he’s not officially your “boyfriend”, but he texts you all the time and you blush nearly every time you read his messages.”

“Well, he’s not my boyfriend. How’s that color combo you were worried about?” I changed the subject back to her art project, ending that line of conversation quite obviously.

Saturday morning I raced around my apartment, finishing up the last minute stuff in the kitchen. I was taping down the clear plastic on the final countertop when I heard the knock at the door. He’s here!

I casually opened the door and let Porter in. He had coffee in his hands, as promised. I led him to the kitchen and offered him a pastry. We stood and chatted while having our breakfast.

With our project laid out, we got started. As usual, our conversation was easy and slightly flirty. We made quick work of the painting project and by lunch we were ready for the break.

We regrouped after lunch and finished strong an hour later. I marveled at what we’d accomplished as I pulled the plastic up off the counters.

“Once I put everything back in here, it’s going to feel like a totally new place. I’m so glad the landlord let me paint. almanbahis giriş That old color was so fucking sad.”

“It’s a big improvement.” Porter said from right behind me. I hadn’t heard him move closer. I jumped a bit and turned around to face him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind you being close.” I sounded slightly breathless. This felt like a first kiss moment, for sure.

“How close do you like it?” He said as he stepped into my personal space, making me look up to see his face.

“This is pretty nice, right here.” I laid my hand on his forearm that rested on the counter next to us.

“I bet you’d like it even closer.” His voice grew husky and he leaned into me further.

I pushed up onto my toes enough to bring our mouths just a few inches apart. I loved being near a large man.

I was a smaller guy, which worked well for me, as a gay man. I liked being smaller than the guys I dated and a lot of them seemed to like it too.

I was only five feet, six inches. My mother is mostly Scandinavian, and very fair. My father is half white and half Japanese. I got just enough exotic from my father to be a really good looking guy.

I had pale skin from both sides and I got my mother’s fine hair texture and big, pouty lips while taking on the nearly black hair color and dark eyes of my father. People never guessed correctly about what my heritage was.

I was 27 but I looked younger, again, thanks to my father’s Asian side. It was another thing guys seemed to like about me. I was petite with soft features, young looking and slightly exotic. Large guys who were into smaller guys loved me.

Porter never talked about his sexuality, but I was guessing he might be one of those large guys who liked to be physically dominant with his partners, even if he wasn’t an aggressive type of dominant. It was another thing I appreciated about him. He was kind and gentle.

And he was one breath away from kissing me. And then he did. He leaned down, taking my lips softly with his own. His arm came around my neck and pulled me deeper, still being careful and sweet.

I wrapped my arms around his torso and kissed him back. It was so incredible and intoxicating. I felt his fire burning just below the surface, but he was letting me set the pace, which made my feelings for him grow even more.

I finally dropped back to my flat feet, my toes nearly numb from our long, wonderful kiss. I leaned forward and rested my head on his chest, holding him close. I felt his arms around me, but he was so still.

I thought he must be just enjoying the moment of closeness we’d built over the last few months and especially the recent weeks. I was content to hug him all day.

But he wasn’t enjoying the moment. He didn’t want to hug all day. He had grown tense and his face was cold and hard to read.

“What’s wrong?” I said as I pulled back enough to look up at him.

“You’re a fucking tease.”

I laughed at his joke. We always picked on each other, back and forth. It was a fun dynamic that made me laugh. “Umhmm.” I nodded in agreement, grinning at him.

“Maybe I should just take what I want.” He was still cold as he said it and he backed me into the corner in the small kitchen, pinning me against the counter.

“Yeah, right. You’ll be a good guy and you know it.” I joked, but I also wanted him to know I wasn’t playing this game. I wasn’t ready for this yet.

“Maybe you don’t know me that well then. I think I’ve been the nice guy long enough, don’t you?” He sounded like he was actually mad and he pushed me into the countertop harder.

“Okay, Porter. That’s enough, let me go.” I tried to push against him, wanting to end this whole situation. I wasn’t comfortable with this level of aggressiveness.

“It’s been three fucking months, Tristan. How long do you think I’m willing to wait?” He pressed his big body into me even harder, the edge of the counter was now painfully digging into my lower back.

“Stop! You’re hurting me, Porter!” I pushed in vain but he refused to give a fraction of an inch.

“I’ve been in pain for weeks, you cock tease. Why are you such a prude? You flirt and pout at me. I want what you’ve been promising me.” He growled the words.

I was now officially scared. I tried to act calm, hoping against hope to stop this whole mess. “You’ll get it a lot faster if you back off right now. You’re scaring me and it’s not putting me in the mood.” I tried to reason with him. Snap him out of it.

“I don’t think it’s about what you want right now. And I couldn’t possibly care less about your fucking mood. Turn around.” He grabbed me harder and flipped me over so I was facing the counter, his body melded to mine from behind.

I fought him and screamed at him to stop. He easily overpowered me and shoved my face down onto the laminate surface.

“Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll gag you.” He said threateningly right near my ear.

“Please stop Porter. Don’t do this. Think for a minute, please!” I had to keep trying to get through to him. I didn’t recognize the man who held me captive in my own kitchen.

“What am I doing, Tristian? Taking what was offered to me over and over? That’s what I see.” He sounded sarcastic and angry.

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