Free The Downlow Alpha (The Identity Crises Book 1) by Linda Wythim Page A

control, and I was careening around in my pain, making everything worse. If anyone I knew found out about last night, my life would be ruined. No one would understand. I would be a laughing stock.
                  I pictured all my friends finding out, finding out and turning their backs on me. Sheila finding out, and telling me she couldn’t be with a fag. Not letting me see my daughter because she didn’t want her exposed to a gay lifestyle. As my mind was wrestling with it all, I stripped and hopped in the shower. I turned the hot water on hotter than I like, burning my body as I tried to scrub off what I had done last night, desperate to scrub off some intangible something that would make me straight again, undo the night's events.
                  After I dried off, wincing at the sensitivity from the scrubbing as I wiped myself with the towel, it hit me what I had to do. I should have done it to start with. Jeff had said there were three options. I should have went with the first one right off, and just reached out to Sheila. I felt anger well up in me as I thought about my talk with him. This was all his fault for saying going out was one of the options. He was to blame for me laying with another man.
                  My mind flashed quickly back to scenes of Clint sucking me, and despite my anger and confusion, I felt myself stirring as it came back to me how passionate it had been, the pleasure he had created in me unlike any I had ever felt. I pushed the image out of my mind as I finished getting dressed. I grabbed my cellphone, and cursed when I turned it on. It was still on text message, the text from Clint giving me his number searing my horrified mind. He had my number. I had forgotten.
                  What if he reached out again? I quickly tried to reason why he wouldn’t. I was just a one night stand for him, I reassured myself. Everyone knew gay men lived for the random sex, seeking out as many partners as they could. The thrill of the strange. I relaxed a little as I pretended I knew gay men were actually like this. In hindsight, I knew I was just grabbing onto the stereotype in my desperation not to see Clint as an individual. It helped me disconnect from what I had felt with him, to view him as the stereotype.
                  I dialed Sheila's number, and felt my nervousness grow as it started ringing. I heard her answer, and her voice made me cringe.
                  "What the fuck do you want, Jeremy?"
                  "Sheila"…I stammered, "I think we should talk. Face to face. Fix this," I said, hating how pathetic I sounded as the words came out. I winced as she started laughing.
                  "There is nothing to fix. Mitch is twice the man that you are, and knows how to treat a lady. Especially in the sack." She laughed at me again as she said the last part, pleased with her dig at my manhood.
                  "Do us both a favor," she continued. "Don’t call me again. I have an appointment for an attorney later this week, and when you get served the papers, it will spell out the conditions for seeing my daughter."
                  I was starting to protest as I heard the click, and knew she had hung up on me. Rage filled me as I threw my phone. The fucking bitch. Her daughter? Who the fuck did she think she was? Megan was our child. I knew I needed to retain counsel, and quick. After hearing the delight she was taking in punishing me with her actions, I had no doubt we were over.
     
     

Chapter four
     
                   I took another swig off of my beer, and wiped my eyes again. I thought back over my marriage to Sheila, all the things I wish I had done and didn't. The little things. The things that didn’t matter until it was to late, and you realized how big those little things really were. I realized it probably would not have saved us, as she had a flaw in her