The Attraction Of David

Chapter 12

The throbbing in my head was intolerably bad. Terrible. The kind that seemed as if something was drilling holes inside my temples. I sought what I typically did to cause this s**t of a pain get off my damned head. I took ibuprofen, leaned my head down on the couch, and even ran my fingers back and forth on the bridge of my nose.

The effort I did was futile. The hangover seemed like a capital punishment from the medieval, excessively so that I pledged myself not to ever have even a single drop of alcohol. As pain took over, I peered over the sofa, seeing my brother seated in front of the table, eyes fixated on his laptop.

“Davi,” I cried, rejecting the deadpanned expression I have seen on his face. I sprawled down on the couch that I barely fitted in. “Can you make a mug of coffee for me, please,” I requested, feeling the bile ascending my throat. It tasted acrid, and I knew I would retch any second from now.

I have stuck around for him, agonized by the ceaseless sense of discomfort. I heard shuffling noises and the cupboard opening, then closing, and it did not take long for my nose to pick up the scent of hot coffee.

“f*****g hell, Dave,” Davion said in a crass tone, derisively placing the mug down the table in front of me. “That’s what you get when you drink more than what you could, stupid ass.”

I leaned to my side and sipped the coffee he thankfully prepared for me. “Sorry, dad, I should’ve known better,” I retorted, sarcastic despite the ordeal I was dealing with. “Can you knead my neck?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, David,” he called out. “Get yourself together. What are you-“

I didn’t get to discern the follow-ups to his word when I rose from the couch, stormed towards the kitchen sink, and hurled all the contents of my gut out in multiple heaves. The suddenness of the sensation off guardedly took me. The taste of beer from last night and the acidic bile permeated all over my mouth as the anguish, hidden from within all spilled out.

I felt a hand soothing my back. It was my mom, and I couldn’t control myself from feeling bad as I threw up more until none was left in my stomach.

“Oh, God,” I grumbled, teary-eyed. I washed off the splatter of yellowish liquid from the sink, rubbing the haze forefront of my vision with the back of my hand. All I could do was gargle the taste away with a mouthwash as my mom looked at me with worry. I nodded at her, making her answer back with a sigh, then she headed back in front of the stove.

“I’d never f*****g drink again.” I declared when I walked back to the living room, sitting back down on the couch and getting the comfort I was scrounging for God to bless me with since thirty minutes ago. “Ugh, thank god.”

“Thank god you’re still alive,” Davion chortled from the table just a few feet away from me. “What, are you pregnant?”

“How about you shut the hell up?” I reacted to his jeering, making him grin even more while he typed on his laptop. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was quarter to ten in the morning. I have not slept well and my body was taking the toll of exhaustion. All I ever did was twist and turn around my bed because of the agony I subjected myself to.

“How’s your date? He did you well or what?”

Sometimes, my brother really made me wonder how it would feel if my fist would land on his nose. Winding the hell out of me was an instinctive aptitude of his that it even confused me why I should be agitated.

Trying to detach myself from irritation as it was still early in the morning and doing so would just ruin my day, I flippantly responded, “It was great, Dad. Thanks for asking.”

“Who were you with? I’m really curious, were you with... that girl, what’s her name again, Kate? He mused and then followed with “or with the guy who screwed you last week?”

I knew mom could hear what he was asking. It was not like mom was daunted at this point. She had heard enough s**t like this being hurled around back and forth between me and my brother that it would surprise me if she was fazed. And besides, it wasn’t like my mom would believe the part where Davion mentioned about me being screwed last week. That was how boring my s*x life turned out.

I leaned my head back against the couch and sipped the coffee. “With both. Surprised that I dated them both?”

“With you?” he queried mockingly. “Or with them? I guess for them. If they only knew how loud you snore.”

I had to turn around as he guffawed in front of his laptop. I peered across my mom’s direction and have seen her grinning as well, making me omit into furthering the conversation anymore.

I suddenly remembered Kate and Jean. Mostly, Kate. I have not gotten the chance to excuse myself last night. I didn’t know if she was concerned, but I decided it would be good if I’d at least tell her I was doing well, aside from the throbbing in my head from earlier. Sluggishly, I sent her a message, apologizing and telling her I hope she got home safely and at least had fun.

Once done with the coffee, I headed back up to my bedroom, ravished by the outcome of intoxication, lack of sleep, and elation from last night at the pub and at the bayfront. But mostly, all I could recall was Stan. I hoped that there was some sort of elixir that could calm my head down, as just a single utter of his name by my subconscious was enough to flood my head with pictures of him.

A simple sigh wasn’t sufficient to free the space that he held in my head. I didn’t know precisely if attraction was the same for everybody, if people normally felt like the way I did. Was attraction enough to cause someone to think about a person excessively? I should’ve Googled that query if I needed the answer, but why worry? I was satisfied, why would I care? It was the feeling that mattered.

I wanted to know if he was fine.

Submitting to the desire, I took my phone and sent him a message. I did not know if he was working at this hour or if he was still asleep on his bed, perhaps naked. Yeah... f*****g hell.

David Earl: ‘Good Morning, I had fun last night. Thank you.’

I could’ve said more than what I typed, and I knew as I stared blankly at the ceiling, I wanted to say more to him as the chance I’ve got back on the coast was not adequate. I have seen minute expressions that had passed in his face as we’ve talked. As I thought about those barely noticeable shifts in his countenance, I couldn’t keep myself from wondering if he was comfortable discussing things with me last night.

Caught in the web of monologues in my mind, I felt the vibration of the phone against my grip, making me shift my gaze to the screen.

Lucas Stanley: ‘Good morning, handsome. I had fun too. Just woke up?’

The smile I had was ear to ear. It was beyond my control to block the abrupt sense of excitement and mirth. I stared too long, far too long at the single message I have received from him. It was just a single message, and here I was, acting like a crazy mutt, engulfed by the moment.

I knew this was too cheesy for me to do. I may have looked pathetic if someone had seen me grinning the way I did as I typed on my phone, conquered by the inexplicable delight a single text from Stan had brought.

David Earl: ‘Yeah, like an hour ago. I had a terrible hangover.’

I waited eagerly for the typing animation to end and my lip, I supposed already the shade of crimson with how much I bit it. It crossed my mind that I was a moron for acting like a horny teenager, but I couldn’t suppress my bliss. I didn’t know if I still had alcohol left in my blood for me to act this way.

Lucas Stanley: ‘You drank a lot last night. What time did you get home? Are you alright?’

As I stared at the message, I recalled the intoxication I was going through back in the bayfront and forgetting the time and how I even got home. But I could still relive that I was the one who chugged on the bottles of beer with no regard, and Stan was just laughing at me, cajoling me even as I did.

And after I was done drinking the bottle he opened for me, he was already ravaging my lips. In the deserted spot, under the faint lights, his palm on my cheek, the other inside my shirt, circling on my aching n****e as his mouth sucked on my tongue. My face heated as I recalled and I had to put a pillow in between my legs, writhing like a damned i***t.

I breathed heavily. I didn’t even know what time I arrived home, and what time I slept. Hell, I couldn’t even recall what time we finished drinking and making out. I turned my awareness back to my phone and started tapping for a reply.

David Earl: ‘I can’t remember. Yeah, I am fine. And you?’

I became conscious of him. I knew he was inebriated before we got home, and his eyes looked tired the last I remembered. As much as I admired the seductiveness of them when they were hooded, he couldn’t drink and drive.

Lucas Stanley: I’m alright. No hangovers, just missing you, that’s all.’

I had to sigh heavily, hating myself for smirking. I knew if I’d stare at myself in front of the mirror, my eyes probably were flickering and I would have to punch myself square in the face if ever they were. Was I this f*****g desperate for sweet messages like this? God, this sickened me in the right and wrong way.

David Earl: ‘You were drunk last night. Don’t drink and drive, unless you’d want to die early.’

Lucas Stanley: ‘I wasn’t drunk last night. Just tired. Are you chiding me? If so, that’s hot.’

David Earl: ‘I wasn’t chiding you, just concerned that’s all.’

Lucas Stanley: ‘You, being concerned, is hot.’

First, he said he misses me. Then now, he thought that me, cautioning him about safety measures, was hot. How could I f*****g get a grip if he was like this? It was like every single time he would say something over the phone or would send a message; he needed me to crave for him. It was working really well, and it was becoming too addictive.

David Earl: ‘Do you always, really, ALWAYS, have to be so f*****g insinuative when we talk?’

Lucas Stanley: ‘I was just saying what’s on my mind. Was it bad to be honest?’

David Earl: ‘Being honest differs from sexting, Stan."

Lucas Stanley: ‘LOL sexting?! I did not even discuss anything s****l. Maybe it was you who were thinking of bad things.’

I curved my toes and cursed inwardly. I wish I could tell him that I see s*x whenever I would think about him. If he only knew how many kinds of s****l positions I have had with him in my brain that I felt so bad each time it would happen. And it took place all the f*****g time, day or night. I didn’t want to objectify Stanley and rather concentrate on learning about recognizing the feelings I had for him. But it was hard when his messages were coaxing me into making those lewd pictures in my damned head.

Lucas Stanley: ‘Doesn’t matter, think of those bad things as much as you want. I do the same, just thinking about you makes my damned c**k hard.’

I locked my phone after that last message. It was like that was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. It flipped my thoughts over from being reserved, to being perverse. That thick rod... his fat dick... I would go mad. Pictures of his face, his body, his rigid and long shaft, all of them were sweet torments that blown my consciousness away from thinking straight. The fact that I could not touch him right now, here in my bed, amplified the s****l frustration that had built in my body for a week now.

It was like fate really was f*****g me sideways, that as I thought about him, my phone rang on my side, making me pick it up and breathe hard, seeing his name on the screen.

“Hi,” his rich voice came out like a sweet caress over the phone when I answered. “I was just joking, did I upset you?”

“No,” I responded swiftly, assertively, like what he said was something so wrong for me to hear.

“So... were you thinking of doing bad things to my poor, naked body?” his words came out thickly like each syllable were hampered by the languor of s****l caress.

“I did, and I don’t want to, it makes me feel, I don’t really know now.”

“It makes you what? Hard? Horny? Craving for me?”

“I... God, what are you doing to me, Stan? Why are you making me act like this?”

A small chortle came out of him. “What do you mean? I will listen, tell me what’s on your mind. What am I making you act and do?” The reassurance in his voice was clear. He wanted to hear, he was interested, and I was glad that he was.

“I don’t...” I trailed off, straining my mind to be pliable enough to put my concerns into words. “I don’t want to just sexualize you. I don’t want to objectify you, Stanley. That’s not what I want with you. My attraction is not that kind of attraction.”

A short moment of silence filled his line and I could hear his breathing at the same pace as it did when he called; steady and calm. Pensively, I already had formed other phrases I could add to what I previously had said. I already stirred a series of follow-ups to my words, but I wanted to give him a moment to wallow on what I’d said.

I was dubious if him being sexualized or objectified was a normal thing he encountered on a daily that it didn’t bother him anymore. I didn’t want this inexplicably beautiful sense of attraction that I fostered for him to incline solely just to f*****g. I wanted more, I wanted him. I wanted him so much, and I have never felt this kind of extreme wanting ever since the last relationship I had where I fell out of love because it was only s****l gratification. It was always about s*x.

I didn’t want him simply because I was enthralled. I wanted a breath of fresh air, and that was what I wanted to feel and discover with him. I wanted to feel. Physically and emotionally with him. I wished I could say those crazy, untold soliloquies that I had made as the sound of his breath come in my ear, but I didn’t. I made up my mind, and I didn’t want to rush. I didn’t want him to rush either.

“Wow.”

That was what he answered. After all the waiting I have done. After that damned dramatic pause we took, those agonizingly long seconds that made me want to wail my heart out because I was not f*****g sure if he was fickle, if he just told me he liked me last night. After all, he enjoyed f*****g with me. I didn’t utter a word, as I was not certain what the f*****g hell his wow was supposed to imply.

“I... that was, well...” he stammered his words out. I thought for a second if he was already choking on his thoughts, like the way I did when I came across the image of his nakedness. “Wow, really.”

“God, wow what, Stanley?” I was growing impatient with each second, feeling nauseous and scared of what he might think about.

“I thought you only ran your mouth more when you’re drunk,” he chuckled, the sound raspy and filled with mirth. “I’m sorry. I mean, thanks, I guess?”

“Just thanks?”— my knuckle twisted the sheets of the bed—“are you serious, Stan?”

“What would I say, I am overwhelmed, David. My sexy, incredibly serious David. God, I don’t understand, really.”

“I told you countless times that I like you, and I want to figure out why, right? Was that not clear enough?”

“I know, and I have told you I like you, too,” he drawled. “How about we meet at ten in my place and talk more about this?”

“Why can’t we here, right now?” I asked in a tone that sounded as if I was pleading for him to just answer me. “Stan?” I had to wait for that long f*****g pause again.

I was the one who instigated this conversation, and yet I was the one who had lost the sense of damn control. I kind of f*****g hate that he had to contemplate about what he was going to say again, and that small chuckle was intolerably hard for me to accept, I abhorred it.

“Because I want to see you while we talk. Can we? Meet me at ten, David, please?” he made the sound sensual, like the way he beseeched was a long, throaty moan.

Fuck him.

What the flying fuckity f**k. Even I was not sure what f**k was supposed to mean right now and whenever we would talk.

“How could I say no to you when you whisper like that?”

“Whisper like how? Like this?” he asked, doing the same husky, labored and too f*****g sexy voice that brought me back to a week ago. “Yes, please?”

“Yes, fine, I’d bring something, what time do you usually have your dinner?”

“You don’t have to,” he gingerly replied. “You just have to bring yourself. A couple pack of condoms if you must, just in case.”

“Jesus Christ,” I uttered and ended the call as Stan chuckled over the phone. I recomposed myself and walked out of my bedroom, down to the living room, the feeling of attraction, just growing more and more, already getting out of my control.

I sat on the living room couch and turned on the television, flipping through the streams of channel, and finally settling for NatGeo. It was not like the beautiful rainforests of Madagascar could shrug the conversation so easily, but I focused on absorbing the informative narration.

“You okay?” Davion said as he took a seat beside me.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I leaned back and crossed my arms, noticing the concerned look of my brother beside me. “I wish I could tell you what’s going on.”

“Ah, yeah, you can,” he chuckled and then took a bite on the chocolate bar he was eating. “You just choose not to, you’re crazy.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you’d understand,” I snorted. I wanted to tell my brother about what was happening with my life.

We barely talked, we barely interacted, and mostly, each time we would, the moments were just us joking around and flippantly cursing at each other. I wanted someone important to me to listen, and the feeling just suddenly hit me, unexpectedly.

“You know the guy I met last week?” I asked, lowering down the volume of the t.v. He nodded and gazed at me, chewing on the bar.

Davion handed the sweets to me, which I eagerly took. “Yeah, what’s with him?” he asked. “Did he do something to you?”

I took a bite, thinking of how I could start telling him what had happened, and what I was going through now. “It’s not like that. We met last night, remember?” I asked, and he nodded. “When we had left the pub where we ate at, we drank by the bay view, and I told him I like him. He told me he likes me too, and that was good. But he was, I don’t know, very vague? I barely know things about him as well. Was that bad?”

As I chewed on the chocolate, I’ve waited for his answer. Davion crossed his legs and his arms. “I guess, yes? Of course, you need to know him, it’s not like you both can progress without knowing each other. What was he like? Like, physically, how does he look like? Does he dress like a girl?”

I shook my head and unlocked my phone. “This is him, his name’s Lucas Stanley,” I pointed the photo of Stan in his direction from my phone’s screen.

“Oh, wow. He looks great,” he chuckled. “He’s great looking, are you sure he’s serious about liking you? That’s hard to believe.”

I locked the phone and leaned my head back on the couch, sighing heavily as I did. Was he serious about me? I didn’t know. “The only thing I’m sure about is he’s sure about wanting to do it with me, and he’s very vocal about it.”

“Oh, so it’s like he only likes s*x?” he asked, making me nod in affirmation. “How can you tell? Maybe he’s just really into you, that’s why he can’t keep it in his pants, but yeah, you don’t know him yet. How long have you known him before last week?”

I looked at him and smiled. “One week. That day when I left, that exact day.” The surprise that had surfaced Davion’s face was expected. He looked at me with such curiosity, probably baffled by how fast I had thrown myself to Stan. And to top that, I paid Stan in that sinfully good one-night stand.

“Oh, wow,” the brevity when he uttered his words was on point. I was as surprised as him when I’ve realized the s**t I did a day after it transpired. “What are you going to do about it? Are you scared?”

I nodded.

“Are you unsure?”

I nodded again.

“But are you serious about him?”

I nodded, and this time, I looked at the face of my brother. It was weird because we looked so alike that it made it seem as if I was talking to myself. I felt at ease with talking to Davion, and it occurred to me I always had been. He was the one who always talked to me when things were hard, when I felt like breaking down, when I am crushing on someone. He’d always been an oddball, but I knew my brother will always be there for me to listen.

“He wanted to meet with me later tonight,” I said to him, taking another bite from the chocolate bar. “And I’m unsure. I’ve never been like this. One week, right? He was like a powerful gust, Davi. And it felt like I was a kite, and I could break anytime if he wanted for me to.”

“Talk to him, Dave. All good relationships start with a good conversation. You can handle it. Break his nose if you had to, in case talking wouldn’t cut through it.”

I glanced back at him, chuckling as I grinned. “Wow, thanks, Dad,” I teased, making him groan as he hated being called dad, and hated our dad as much as I did.

I turned my attention back to the television and increased the volume, relaxing and preparing, hoping for good things for whatever that may occur later at ten in the evening.

Good relationship. A relationship with him. I hope so, really.