Your Arms Feel Like Home

"Harleys, mostly. I can ride others, but I don't like them as much," Randy replied as he looked over the menu. Nothing seemed particularly appetizing to him. But he wasn't someone who ate a lot, though people thought that he did.

John nodded. "I love Hareley's, but I prefer Ducati's. There more my style." He chuckled, looking over the menu. He wasn't very hungry. He didn't really like eating. He had an eating disorder, just another thing to add to his list of issues. He wasn't sure if he should tell Randy he was a sex addict. "So Randy... are you the type of man to wait in a relationship for sex?" He asked.

"Yes," Randy replied without thinking. That was something he was very stubborn on. He had morals, and one was waiting for sex. He didn't want a relationship based on sex. That's why he didn't do one night stands.

"O-Oh..." John said, feeling like he was going to have an anxiety attack. He was used to have sexy at least everyday... if he wanted this man, he'd have to wait. "U-Um Randy.... I g-gotta tell you something... just promise me you won't judge me." He said, chewing his lip nervously.

Randy looked up at him and his face contorted in concern. "Of course I won't judge you. I have an open mind. What is it?" he asked, biting his lip.

John bit his lip before taking a deep breath. "Randy... I'm a sex addict." He said.

Randy just looked at him, a blank look on his face. "You... Um... Wow," he said, finally reacting. "Well, shit happens, right?"

John nodded. "Yeah... I go to therapy, and that helps. But I just started going. ANd I still get the urges but I fight them off..." He said, nervously fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"Wow. Um, I never known someone who was a sex addict. Is it hard? What's it like?" Randy asked, seriously interested.

John shrugged. "Well... you just want sex. You need it, all the time. For me, it started out small. Then it grew. I went from, twice a week to having sex twice a day. And it feels like... if I don't get it, I will explode, or I'll cry. It's uncomfortable. People have though I was a junkie because of the way I fidget when I want sex... But I realized that what I was doing wasn't healthy. And if I wanted a relationship, I needed help." He explained.

Randy nodded. "I understand. In a way. I'm bipolar, and the meds don't work. So I have to control it and hope that I don't kill someone. There are times I get so mad I black out. It's scary. I've lost a lot of people because of it," he said.

John nodded slowly. "Well, let's hope you don't lose me." He said, his green yes looking deep into Randy's, as if he was seeing right through him. And he was.

Randy smiled, looking into John's eyes as well. "Yeah, let's hope," he said. And he really hoped. This was the worst case his psychologist has seen of bipolar disorder.

John nodded. They're food arrived, and John picked at it. "I have an eating disorder." He said, blurting it out before he could stop it.

Randy shrugged. "I do, too," he replied as he slowly ate. He could never eat more than half his meal unless is was small.

'I honestly hate eating." John sighed, looking down at his meal.

Randy shrugged again. "I only do it so I don't die. I eat three times a day, and I haven't finished a meal since I was a child," he said.

"I was anorexic as s kid." John said, taking small bites of his food.

"I could never actually eat. Like, my stomach wouldn't let me. I hated it, because if we went out, I would like a fourth of my meal and the rest went to waste," Randy said.

"Yeah. I feel bad not being able to eat then have it all thrown away when somebody else would eat it who really needs it. But it's something we can't help." John sighed.

"I usually save my meals and bring them to homeless shelters," Randy said with a smile. As an artist, he knew what it was like to have nothing. His parents shunned him for a while because of his lifestyle, but his father couldn't stand having his son not in his life since they were so close. So he had had nothing for a while. But now he had his trust fund back and he could buy things.

John nodded. "I give to charity. I was dancing since I was two years old, and I work for the best modern dance company in the US. I have money, and I earn it by doing what I love." He said with a smile. "But it's hard work. What job isn't?" He chuckled.

"There are jobs out there that aren't hard. I don't know of any of the top of my head right now, but they're out there. My job can be fairly easy. Depends on what aspect you're looking at," Randy replied with a smile.

John smiled. "What is your job? You were very vague when you told me. Wait, let me guess.... photographer? Graphics? ...Painter?" John asked.

"Artist would be the official name. I paint occasionally but my major subject is drawing. I have many drawings of scenery and people as well as objects and such," Randy said as he took a sip of water.