I have a boy.

It should be perfect. But, it’s not.

Ben claims I’m clinging to Rob, and twink says nothing is ever good enough for Dr. Fell, and Dave just looks sad that he’s not making me happy.

And I’m pissed with myself, too. It should be right. I have a boy, a dog, a cabin, a bike, and a part-time job.

Damn.

I can’t even say what’s wrong. Yeah, gaining a step-mom was a shake up, and having a live-in boy of my own is downright unsettling, but those, on balance, are good things.

I throw Ghia a stick. She snorts and bounds away after it. I sigh and give myself a mental shake. I’m being an idiot. I look at my watch. Dave’ll be home soon. I’m almost lonely without him. Pathetic.

His job starts at dawn, but it gets him home mid-afternoon, so it works out well enough. He’s taken to his apprenticeship out at the airport as if it were designed for him, and I tolerate the fact that it has him working Saturdays. We get Wednesdays in exchange. He’s all but promised a job if he passes his FAA test at the end of his apprenticeship. He leaves study guides for his Airframe and Powerplant license all over the cabin. We’ve had some sharp words about tidiness. I help him study, but it’s not like tutoring Rob for his GED. I can’t understand most of what Dave is reading.

Ghia head butts my feet. I’ve ignored her stick.

“Aw, come on girl. Let’s go for a run until your Dave gets back.”

She leaps around while I change out of my boots, and then we lope off together into the woods.

Dave and I had awkward words earlier in the week. He wants to be just mine even if I fuck the other boys as I train them, but I feel awkward not letting the guys have him in exchange. Fair’s fair. And Dave’s a young kid. He doesn’t know what monogamy means yet, and his previous lovers have been inept. He deserves some fun. I pause while Ghia catches up from investigating an exciting scent, and I amend my objections.

I’d love Dave to be just mine, and the guys would be cool with it; I’m just being a bit of a dick about Dave asking for what he wants.

Ghia snorts.

“You’re right, girl. I’m not being fair. I yelled at him for not telling me stuff, and now I’m being an ass about him saying what he wants.”

Hell, is it worse to talk to yourself or to a dog?

“Being overheard is worse, sir.”

Continued in First Section