The Attraction Of David

Sleep was hard to chase. It was elusive, constantly playing hard to get. It might have been the instant coffee I frequently consumed, my poor diet, my f****d-up body clock, or my fascination with overthinking. I might as well add those endless videos on my feed that I couldn’t stay myself from viewing that brought me to this occasion. This was common. Tonight was just one of those regular nights wherein I overthink, resulting in a sleepless one. With said things pressed together, it ultimately led to me, deliberating about the quality of my life. If I had to be fair, taking matters seriously was a tough concept to manage for myself. I suppose that was the reason I have spent little effort into everything I went on, resulting in me, not seeing much achievement to be proud of. After that, what I’d do was question myself why I kept on lamenting about how shitty my life was, since all it ever did was rile me up. I should have concentrated more on coercing myself to slumber. As laughable as my life sounded, it also did not turn out to be as thrilling as I thought it would be. I’m in my prime years, turning twenty-six, still picking up, still striving, and hardly had things figured out. I thought when I was younger that, when I’ve reached this age, the only compromise I had to worry about was time, or where I’d get to devote my hard earned money, but that was not the case. I fantasized about getting my car, my house, a handsome savings account... maybe a family of my own, a child or two... a lover, perhaps? Or if not those, maybe a respectable and rewarding career. Ot if not, just away from this house that I always considered home. Maybe away from my mom and my brother, away from the stress I had to face as we lived under the same roof, away from the everyday worries we had to face as a household. I was uncertain if matters actually get easier when you’re alone, if life would be much simpler to figure out when you’re on your own, and wishing to experience if those statements were true had always been a dream of mine. I had never lived away from my folks, and sincerely, I couldn’t see myself experiencing the luxury of doing it soon. With the kind of income that was just sufficient to make ends meet, a tight schedule, and the stress-inducing job... the idea of moving elsewhere to figure out if those said things were correct, seemed superficial at most. Wasn’t that what most normal individuals of my age, face? Almost the same questions, repercussions, volume of pressure, and stress that had to be encountered. Inevitably, thoughts like this phases out in a couple of minutes, or when sleep finally kicked in. But that was not the situation at hand right now. This night was different, as my wallowing had included moving away from here, and that had never happened before. This was worse than the previous nights. I recognized that my shortage of sleep was going out of control, and lately, I had been so persuaded to have sleep supplements that could aid me to get my damned deserved rest. The humid air and a head that really wouldn’t quit complaining amplified the restlessness. And the snoring, god I abhorred the snoring. That heavy, labored snoring of my brother beside me. I hated it. I hate this life. Not really hated it to the core, but I disliked it. It was complicated. God knew I was trying so hard not to think of life as terrible. Maybe that was the reason I couldn’t even muster enough energy to push further, because that s**t sucked the hell out of my energy. Life, in a nutshell, was exhausting to me. The exasperation made me rise from the bed, rubbing my teary-eyes as I did. My body felt lethargic. I have not had dinner, and the hunger suddenly became unbearable. I marched out of our dingy bedroom and hopped down the stairs to get something to eat. As I expected, the fridge was nearly empty, and the stock of food direly needed replenishment. It was just a week past my salary and my budget for the later week was already running dry. I picked up the leftover food and opened the lights. I grabbed a plate, seated down, and served myself the meal that was cold. I did not bother to reheat the lump on my plate. What good would it bring, anyway? It would probably taste bland. Food never tasted good whenever I’m feeling upset. Our family dog woke up, yawning and stretching when she’d picked up the clanking noise of the spoon against the plate. “Come here, Daytona,” I lowered down, beckoning our family’s five-year-old Pug. She languidly walked towards the piece of pork slice I held in between my fingers. “You only appear near me whenever I have something to offer,” I quipped, a smile on my lips. The rustling sound of slippers across the room made me look and sit back up. “You’re still awake,” my mother said, rubbing her left eye with the back of her hand. “You have work tomorrow?” asked her. I shook my head. “No, it’s my day off. I also used two days of my paid leave.” I took a mouthful of unheated food. The taste of the food was not as bad as I guessed, my mom was remarkable at cooking. “Oh,” she replied, sounding surprised. “Are you going somewhere, since you spent your leave?” she pressed further. It seemed that my answer to her was lacking. I shrugged and answered, “No, not really. I just wanted some rest, the past month was incredibly tiring and frustrating.” Mom drank a glass of cold water, glanced at me and then spoke, “I already fed Daytona earlier. Just close all the lights once you’re done.” She walked up the stairs afterwards. Sometimes, I hoped my mom would ask me more questions. Like, how was I feeling? Or was I okay with life? It’s not that those questions would carry out such a big impact on me, it was just that, it might make me feel like she at least cared even just a bit. Not that she didn’t care about me, but a brief conversation won’t hurt, right? I couldn’t figure out how our relationship happened to be like this. We used to be close, and maybe it was the stress of the job I have, the burden of the tasks she had to fulfill as a mother, that had prompted to no verbal regards in this house. Not that I took it to the heart, but it felt... dry. I ran a hand through my hair and checked my phone. It was almost four in the morning. I carried the plate with the unfinished food and dumped it in the trash bin. Yes, four in the morning. My f*****g rotational shift really was turning me into a damned zombie. When I walked up to the bedroom, my brother was still fast asleep. He barely fitted the bed at this point. My brother was much taller, bulkier than I was right now. As he grew up, our connection seemed to part away, same as that of with mom’s. Maybe it was because we didn’t really spend time with each other anymore? He was busy with school, and I was busy with my job. Apparently, everyone’s too busy to give a damn about having a conversation in this house, I suppose. Bottom line was, I craved any kind of attention. I felt incomplete. Sighing and feeling like a complete, melodramatic i***t, I got back to the other side of the bed and checked on my phone. I dimmed it and draped my head with the blanket, obscuring the view of whatever I was about to do. This room was mine, and the reason my brother was fast asleep beside me was due to him, not being able to finish painting the walls on his. The day was not enough to have all the walls fully painted, hence the reason he had to sleepover. The proximity between me and my brother was not the reason I hid myself under the blankets. I had to open my hook-up app. Who the hell wanted to be caught by a straight person using this? Worse, a sibling? Certainly not me. It was not as if he still didn’t know; I was just uncomfortable that he might see what I was up to, especially around this time of the day. A rush of excitement had spread across me as I checked the two notifications I received. There were two messages sent to me while I was off my phone. I giddily checked the first one from Arthur. I was not sure if Arthur was his real first name, since we have just started conversing earlier today. And, honestly, knowing everything about Arthur was not the point. As long as I found a guy attractive, that seals the deal for me. Getting to know things about Arthur as if we were dating was not the important part of this s**t. What’s important was I knew I wanted to to be dicked down by Arthur. I had to check the photo he sent me earlier one more time. He was attractive. Tanned skin, a defined jawline, and a pair of wide, expressive black eyes. His hair was neatly combed back, and a smile was curved on his thin lips. He was my type. I always adored that kind of face. I never knew why I do, but I was certain that I wanted to be pounded by him, or pound him, while he showed me that pretty face of his. I had to re-read what reply he had sent to my last message, which was a photo of me. “YOU’RE CUTE, BUT NOT REALLY MY TYPE.” The letters were all capitalized. Well, I guess, fair enough? All I could do was sigh, insecurity blooming in my head. I had a penchant for feeling such despicable emotion every time something like this would happen. It never ceased to make me feel unattractive. I had never been the most confident person, and rejection, even at this age, still was a process that’s hard for me to accept. Well, at least he was honest. I didn’t bother to send another message to Arthur after that. I checked the other message. It came just ten minutes ago. I rarely received messages first, so this was a surprise, really. The message plainly said, ‘Hi, David,’ and nothing else. My name was on my profile, including my statistics, and my about me section that had tidbits of information that people from this app may not even care about. Stan, 28, 16 KM away, Online. 5’11, Asian, Versa. No photos to show, nor any avatars. This was just a blank profile showing Stan’s basic information. No tidbits in his about me section, either. Profiles like the one he had usually were overshadowed by ones that were showing pictures of a handsome smile with a chiseled jaw, or a shirtless body. Any kind of picture that may pique the interest scores a higher chance of a hook-up. I admit, I rarely cared about profiles that had no avatars, but since he had messaged me hi, I sent a reply. “Hello, Stan.” I have waited for a minute, watching the screen intently since his status had shown that he was online. I was uncertain if it was just sent as a notification, but the animation of him, typing a reply, said otherwise. He was continuously tapping for more than a minute that I had to message him again with, ‘Good morning (:’. He must’ve had a lot to say. At that moment, I knew that I really didn’t mind. Anything that would make me catch sleep, or even help me at least be drowsy, would be enough. If I wouldn’t get to find someone, at least I could kill time with him. “It really surprised me that you replied. As I expected, men near us wouldn’t bother to do so, since I have not added an Avatar to my profile. I hope you are fine at this moment. Why are you still up?” I’d bet a finger that he was as bored as I was. I rarely, even would say, never, have received a message that had instigated a start of a conversation. It usually begins with a face pic, an upper body pic that flaunted the abs and pectorals, or a d**k pick. Messages like this were even more fazing than lewd photos, if I must say. Not thinking much about where this conversation would go, I fired away a reply. “I... am... doing... fine... and... you?”, whispering the words as I did. I sent the reply to him nonchalantly. What would I say? I was not fine and was actually having an episode of my own existential crisis because of my lack of sleep? On top of that, someone just rejected me because I was not his type. Yeah, right, f**k that. A smile played on my lips as I have seen the typing animation again. This man was eager. “Bored and horny.” was what he replied. I couldn’t blame him, I was, too. I really was. They said that you just have to scratch the itch to make it go away. By scratching the itch, it was a euphemism for jerk yourself off. I have already done that before, but it was not enough to palliate the s****l urge. I didn’t want to simply just jerk off; I needed the real deal this time around. It had been months since I met with someone, and the tryst was not even good to reminisce, if I should be honest. It felt dry and weird that I wish I could bury it in the back of my mind. Neither did I nor the guy had any kind of penetration, so it was not even something worth remembering. There were quite a couple of mundane experiences I had encountered that made me regret being alive sometimes. I thought that those experiences would up heave my interest in this kind of lifestyle wherein hooking-up was a way for an escape. If only jerking off could curb the hunger now, I could’ve done it. But there simply was no absolute s****l sobriety when you’re stressed, lonely, and in your mid-20s. My mind was insolent, and my d**k seemed to have its own brain that seemed to make it act on its own accord; it gets hard when it wants to get hard, and it was unstoppable. “Well, me, too, Stan. By the way, do you have any pics?” I typed in. If only I could to talk to him about other things. Probably work related, or, why not talk about nature? Our favorite food, shows we’re binging, music taste, anything normal. But I knew, who even wanted to drag the conversation further in here? Inevitably, the conversation will cease being all cordial, so I had to cut through the bullshit. We both were here, on a hook-up app, to get laid. It took him a minute to respond, and when he did, it read, ‘I won’t disappoint. How about you send me your best pic and let’s see if it’ll work?’. At least he couldn’t see how I feigned my confidence when I’ve read that. Weary, I sent him the photo of mine which I have sent earlier to Arthur. That one photo wherein I was cute enough to not be someone else’s type. That photo was taken a month ago while I was with a friend. I was holding a burger on the right, a plastic cup on the left. I had a smile on, and my brown hair was wild on my forehead. I was wearing a jeans jacket on top of my white shirt. I must admit, I looked good in that photo. I looked happy, like my smile and bright eyes were bursting with positivity. I never thought that an innocent-looking selfie was something I would use here. ‘That was taken a month ago. Nothing has changed with my appearance, my hair just got longer.’ I added after I sent him the photo. I waited for him to key in anything. When he finally concocted a response, I felt shifting and movements happening beside me, that I almost dropped my phone while hiding under the blanket. ‘YOU look really handsome, David. How about your body? Have a shirtless pic?’ I sighed and shook my head. “Really... handsome, of all the adjectives?” I even said to nobody. Granted with a boost of confidence, I have searched a photo I took without a shirt on. I was not a regular at the gym, but I go with my brother whenever time permits. I was naturally lean, not too muscular, but toned. Thanks to him telling me I was handsome, not that I was complaining, but it kind of surprised me, so I did not hesitate to send him one. ‘YOU ARE GORGEOUS’ was his immediate reply. My fragile self couldn’t suppress the grin. I was smiling like a kid. It did not take long for a photo of him to fill the left surface of my phone’s screen. Two photos came at the same time. Two photos that almost made me gawk. Handsome paled in comparison with how attractive he was, that it made me had second thoughts about him. It made me surmise that this might have been just taken from Google, or was grabbed from i********:. He was fantastic-looking, that it made it hard to focus and decide on what was the best part of his feature. And I was not even exaggerating. The second photo was all it took to captivate me. A shirtless photo of Stan, his phone on his left hand, the other, raked on his hair, in front of his bathroom mirror. He was well built. Seriously, no, he was brawny as f**k. And his chest, showing dustings of hair, thinning down to his abdomen... God forbid. A rush of excitement surged from my head, down to my d**k. I got hard with just staring at his photo. ‘HOLY MOLLY.’ was all I have managed to reply. ‘You like that?’ It should not fluster me, but God, it did. I knew he was fishing for a goddamned compliment. I had to bite my bottom lip as I rummaged through my brain with what phrase I should use. Grinning, I typed in ‘You’re just what the doctor had prescribed.’ and sent in to him. In no way that those photos were of him, really. I knew this was a catfish. If it was him, he would have used whatever of these two photos he had sent me as his avatar. That was the pretense I have thought about, but this was exciting, I wanted to see where this would go. Fuck red flags, ignorance is bliss. An arm draped over my body and a heavy leg had parked on my torso while I was typing something, that it made me close the app. I moved the blanket off my head and have seen that my brother had woken up. “What are you doing under the sheets?” my brother, Davion, enquired, his voice throaty. “Were you watching gay porn?” I pushed his leg away and groaned. “Move! No, you dumbo, I ain’t watching porn. Move, I can’t sleep.” I pointed my screen in his direction to see his face. My brother was smiling, his eyes, closed. “Well, I don’t want to.” he said. It felt like I was looking at my reflection when I checked his face. “Can you move, please? It’s too cramped here, and it’s hot! I can’t seriously f*****g sleep, would you, please?” I complained, pushing away the arm he draped around my body. Damn, he can be a total asshole when he wanted to. “Oh, c’mon now,” he teased, insisting on pulling me in for a hug. “Watching porn isn’t so bad, no need to be shameful about it.” “Yeah, but I am not. Can you move before I kick you out?” I grouchily said. I moved my phone away from his face since it felt like I was looking at my annoying self. God, why did we have to look so alike? He was just taller, manlier since he grew his facial hair, and more well-built than I was. He sure damn grew too fast, but he did not outgrow his annoying, childish side. “Like you could? C’mon, we rarely spend time with each other, it’s just a f*****g hug,” he mumbled. I pushed him away. “God, you’re making me sick,” I groaned again. “I can’t sleep, seriously.” “All you ever did was drink coffee, stare at your laptop, and tap on your phone. You rarely work out and you only eat, like, when you feel like eating. It totally f****d your body up, David.” “Ahh, yeah. And I also have a job that’s stressing me out. You’d not know that ‘cause you don’t have a one,” I curtly replied. Davion adjusted himself on the bed, the mattress shifting with his movement. “How the hell would you be able to sleep when you have your phone in your face? Lock your damn phone, close your eyes, and sleep like a normal human being.” “Yeah, right.” He’s got a point. I did not bother to retort. I placed my phone on top of the desk to my right. What an asshole. I finally yawned and even dragged it further to make sure my f*****g brain will feel its effect. Wanting to check the phone and see what Stan had replied to my last message was engulfed by the all-consuming tiredness I suddenly felt. Thank heavens, now I felt like I can finally sleep the damn day.