The Darker Side of Trey Grey by Tara Spears

than a nurse. She doesn’t understand why I love my job so much.” He tisked and I smirked.
    I knew I had been right, and the wife just proved it. I wasn’t sure if accurately pinpointing a person’s sexuality was really a talent, but I had always been very good at it. I wasn’t even sure how I knew with such certainty, just little nuances I supposed, but I had been able to do it since grade school.
    His hands worked away, and I began to feel them on my skin. It was the first real thing I had felt, and I found myself sinking into the mattress as my muscles loosened and tingled. I didn’t even flinch when his fingers dug into my buttocks. I’ve had massages, but this was the first by a humming overzealous straight boy.
    When he went to flip me over, I was in a languid half-dozing state. He was good, and by the time he finished with my shins I was there again, floating.
    “Someone’s relaxed.”
    I opened my eyes a crack and saw him flip my dick between my legs with a finger. There was a small pool of urine nestled in the hollow by my hip bone. I was rather shocked to find I didn’t care , and just wanted him to get back to the massage. 
    “Don’t worry.”
    I wasn’t. He snapped a glove on and cleaned me off with some wipes he produced from yet another unknown location.
    “The feeling will come back soon, maybe even today.” He threw both wipes and glove away then went back to digging his fabulous fingers into my hips while I went back to lala land.
    Over the next few days I grew stronger and every little accomplishment brought hearty praise from Gale. He really was overly positive and nothing bothered the guy. And I mean nothing .
    Not even when my bowels decided to work again, and I had wretched, embarrassing, diarrhea everywhere. He chatted with me as if we were having coffee, while I cringed, mortified, and very much wanting my shower and scrub brush.
    When he was done cleaning me, and everything around me, he set my cigarettes and ashtray on the stand then went off to open the windows. He busied himself making my soup and coffee, while I chain smoked through three cigarettes before I could breathe normally and quit shaking. I really appreciated his feigned indifference.
    The third day saw me wobbling with the help of a walker to the toilet. The fourth I could get up without assistance and shuffle, still with the walker, to the windows for a smoke, or the microwave to make coffee. I had to drink it leaning on the counter though, as I couldn’t carry the cup and walk at the same time.
    On the fifth day, as Gale worked through my physical therapy, stretching my legs to my chest and back down, he asked me, “How did you manage a private room?”
    “I pay for it. So far I’ve been able to keep it, but if they ever need the dorm space I ’ll lose my privacy and gain a roommate.”
    He rotated my ankle. “I thought they gave you boys’ private rooms,” he said conversationally.
    So Gale knew I was gay, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had given me away. Straight boys, and most women for that matter, usually didn’t figure that out. I didn’t have any tells that I knew of.
    “No. They’re not as anal as the military.” I glanced at him and narrowed my eyes as he hummed quietly while he worked. “How did you know?” I finally asked.
    He stopped humming. “Simple, silly. You’re comfortable with me touching you everywhere. Straight guys tense and have a hard time relaxing. Even women relax faster.”
    I chuckled and refrained from telling him part of that was due to my profession.   
    The mental health professional came on the ninth day. Gale had moved the appointment somehow, knowing I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone three days after the incident. And I hadn’t been. I fe lt more self-assured now though. Being mobile and able to use the bathroom had been a big step towards recovering my confidence.
    The therapist arrived just as Gale was leaving that morning. I was sitting on the bed in