The Attraction Of David

Chapter 13

"I'm not okay. This is hard. I can't deal with this anymore..."

"I'm here, and I'm listening. You've got this, call our hotline now."

With my head leaning against the metal handle in the train, I've watched the endless loop of depression hotline advert on the small monitor. The coaxing message was reassuring, that it made me determine if all along, that was what I truly required.

I was glad that my brain sternly braced itself from the adversities of solitude and overthinking that I've had these past few months. I realized some individuals had a tough time opening up and revealing what they were going through. The dilemmas, the pressure and the overwhelming dolor, could drive someone make the unthinkable.

And as I peered more at the advert, I have thought about how distressed I was when we were still residing with my dad. How terrified I was to open up about myself, to be who I was and be who I knew I wanted - desired - to be. It was a timeline filled with an unfathomable amount of oppressive emotions that were difficult to stash in my subconscious. Thinking about it now still caused me a quick pang of melancholy. There were truly some wounds that turned into scars, words that had been spoken, that were awfully tough to forget, especially when the one I looked up to with so much love and respect was the one who had created them.

When the train paused at the terminal I was bound to, I shrugged the thoughts aside and went earnestly down into the night. A single look at my watch warned me of the last nine minutes I had, before Stan and I would meet each other again in his place.

The streets were still active at this time of the day, cars and people are in the rush, and the blistering summer heat was distinct, inevitably invoking sweat to appear in my chest and temples. I had to double my pace as the walk to his condo building, last time I recalled, took approximately fifteen minutes, coming from the train station if one was strolling.

It didn't take me long to reach the building. I filled out the visitor's log and handed my I.D to the reception area, then sauntered into the elevator. Pressing the sixteenth floor button was not as heavy to do as before. I was not as uptight, not as jumpy like the last time. The feeling that lingered and never changed was the excitement. It nevertheless retained the same enigmatic rush of anticipation. It was hard to ignore. It was difficult to not feel it, as the door opened to his floor.

My heart was skipping, flailing in my chest with each stride that I took. It was not the long walk; I knew. It was because of the man beside the door I was facing. I exhaled heavily, braved through the reaction I was experiencing, and buzzed on his doorbell.

The sounds of the lock opening and clicking made me look straight forward, not so astonished to see him standing in front of me, an inviting smirk on his face.

"Hi," I smiled. Stanley looked, well, perfect. He consistently had been, more so with just a tank top, a pair of sweatpants and barefoot. The lights were bright, making me recognize that his thick hair looked damp. "Just got out of the shower?" I inquired.

He nodded his head, opening the door wide enough for me to enter. When I stepped in, Stanley hadn't moved aside to allow me in his place, making me frown when he locked the door, my back almost pushing against it.

I inhaled sharply, and the minty scent of his body wash infiltrated my senses like no other. "Yes?" I questioned, knowing well enough that he had another antic or play of words readied for me. "May I come in, Stan?"

"I'm pleased that you're here," he inched his face forward, burying his nose on the collar of my shirt. "I'm sorry about earlier. Are you mad at me?"

I bit my lip, having him inhaling so close against my skin. "No, really, it's fine. Are you alright?" I urged, faking my concern as all I craved to do right at this moment was f**k him senseless. Lord have mercy on me, it was tough not to think of doing it.

"Yeah," he drew another sharp inhale. His hand went to my left arm, and I remained, petrified as he lightly rubbed my muscles. "We could stay like this, or just head straight to my bedroom, if that's what you prefer."

How my susceptibility to get drowned from his touch and scent never changed, never waned. As he did what he did, that sweet caress and him inhaling my scent, I couldn't save myself from staying mum. The feeling was compelling; it was an enigmatic force, still raw and new.

How a week could make me act so out of myself, I hadn't still procured the specific answer to it. I just knew that I didn't want this rush to run out, to fade away. I was still terrified of what I was feeling. I feared what he was feeling. If he indeed, honestly, actually was feeling.

And I must seek. I desired to know; I had to know.

With his hand still gripping my arm, he moved his head away from my chest to gaze at me straight in the eyes, his brown eyes caging the turmoil. I didn't know if it was just me, but I have seen the slightest shifts in his appearance. It might have been worry, it might have been excitement, it even may have been frustration with the way his jaw clenched for a second or two.

He exhaled, closed his eyes and brushed a finger against it. "Let's head inside, Jack's been waiting for this moment," he peered back at me with a smirk. "Thanks for being here at such time."

He led me to the couch. The memories from the night I last seated here had fluxed in my head. I lay down, resigning myself to the soft leather sofa, and I couldn't help but notice how perfect he looked like as he wandered into the kitchen. The things he caused me to think of were incredibly vivid.

It did not take him long to emerge back. "Thank god," I grinned, glancing at the 2 liter Coke he'd carried along with JD. "You said Coke isn't healthy, what made you change your mind?"

He brought the bottles he was carrying down to the living room table. "It was just an excuse," he snickered, opening the bottles and pouring the whiskey and cola together in the glasses. "I ran out of groceries the last time you were here."

He filled my glass almost to the brim, making me look at him. I immediately recalled how I cursed upon the feeling of hangover earlier today, saying hollow promises about not drinking again and whatnot. But here I was, savoring the sweet, alcoholic taste of the liquid courage he had passed me.

"I'll cut through it," I opened, setting the glass down on the table and looking him in the face. "I'm here because I need to talk to you, about things. I have a lot in my mind, and I hope we can be both honest with our discussion. Is that okay?"

He crossed an arm around his body as he held the glass. His biceps were exquisite, undeniably too bothersome to look at that I had to center all my attention to his face. It was just the same debacle. His face was too distracting to stare at for long either, specially when he recognized I was holding myself from eye-f*****g him.

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled, shaking his head a little. "I'll be genuine with you, but not when you stare at me like that," he badgered, prompting me to figure out of a comeback.

Of course, he perceived it. "I'm just admiring your face and body. Was there something wrong with that?" I retorted and took an abrupt pause. "It's not like you don't do the same thing to me. There, see, you're diverting my attention again."

"Am I?" he gingerly countered. "As if I have not caught the way you awkwardly looked at me, like you were so coy about it. And I want it, I am cool with it."

"I know you're cool with it... And I don't know why I am feeling awful about feeling that way about you. I think of you, all the time, but I don't want to. It makes me feel bad about doing it."

"Oh, you feel bad about fantasizing? Was that it?"

"Yes."

"f*****g hell, that's bullshit," he replied like my statement was petty nonsense to him. "Why would you think of that? That's normal, David. It's too late to act prudishly, it was not like I have not f****d you or sucked your c**k yet."

Were my thoughts plain bullshit? I needed to say to him everything; I knew that when he imploring stared at me. I should tell him, and either he would laugh at me, at least it'd lift the burden off my shoulders.

"I'm not prudish, damn it, Stan," I had to sigh and roll my eyes at him when he chortled, sipping on the lemmy. "I just don't like to objectify people I like. I like you, Stan."

"Like, in what sense?" A puzzled look surfaced on his face. "I know you said you liked me earlier and also yesterday. So, you mean... not platonically anymore?"

"Yeah, that's why I came here. I'm confused, you said you liked me last night, right? Was it just because we were drunk?" I accusingly asked, hinting on my disappointment.

"No, I meant what I'd said last night. I like you, but I thought it was just with us being friends, that's all."

"You flirted with me, Stan. You kissed me, touched my d**k in public, and you said you liked me. Were those not... c'mon.",

"Yeah," he blurted, causing me to look back at his confused and evidently delighted face. "So, you're expecting more from me, is that what you're implying? You like something more than what my body can give?" he urged, raising an eyebrow.

Yeah, those brown eyes of his were confused. I didn't get a lot time to figure out why he looked so bewildered, and why I was suddenly tongue tied. Why was it so heavy to claim that that's what I wanted? It was not like I was begging him for a label or what, that's utter garbage, I have merely known him - this gorgeous man - for a week, in a damned hook-up app, of all places. It was not like I wanted him calling me baby or boo right away, f**k that.

"Do I truly have to tell you? Was it not too obvious by now?" I pushed forward.

"Hmm, so the prospect is us, ultimately being a couple, is that what you're seeing?" he asked. The mirth he had shown made me want to dissolve into air. f**k him for enjoying this at my own expense

The prospect of a relationship with him was like a risible, histrionic, intolerably cheesy ploy. But it was forefront in my mind, it absolutely was there, right in front. It was the puzzle I had pieced. The distorted idea was like an annoying buzzing around my head, that there was no way for me to swat the thought away.

"Yes, I want that." There was an answer required to be handed over. I couldn't lie, not to him, not to myself. "And do you know what I see right now, Stan? When I look at you right now?"

"Tell me," he smirked, his gaze glued to my face. "What do you see when you look at me?"

"I see myself regretting that I liked you. I see the fact that It's only a week, that there were only texts and calls, only teasing, that s****l tension, that we met in a place where people use s*x as nothing but an escape. I see how those - you and I - are not getting anywhere, and I'm scared. I'm so anxious of it."

He nodded his head. A heavy sigh came out of me when he placed the glass down on the table, inched himself forward and grabbed my hand. He held it, kneaded it so gently, as he looked down at the gesture that he was doing. He didn't speak, nor did I. And honestly, it felt like we needed a moment of silence.

Maybe he required that moment more than I did. I knew he deserved it, and I couldn't blame him if the urgency of having a short amount of silence to let it all simmer down was needed. I just stared down and waited, sensing the vehement heat of the man that blown me away like a powerful gust of wind. And really, the only ace I had up my sleeves was if he would ask me if I liked a relationship, was my yes. My concise and honest yes.

I hoped he would want it. I wished that, maybe if not a relationship, maybe just anything that could make me work on, something that I could endeavor, to prove to him I was sincere, that the feelings I had weren't easily disposed, that I could foster the emotions and make it grow more, with him. With us.

He cleared his throat, making me conclude he contemplated something out of the short expanse that we took that seemed and felt like forever in my mind.

"Did your emotions scare you, David? Would you stop feeling it if I would say I'm not yet ready for what you want?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I swallowed hard, the taste of pride abrading my throat like a motherfucker. It made me think about the depression line, the numbers flashing in bold red characters as I worried about if I should say yes. God knew yes was the damned right answer, the choice of someone who was not stupid enough to utter.

But I was so foolish for him, and it frustrated me, that I answered, "no," even closing it with, "for you, I won't.", like it did not break my heart a bit.

The incessant nagging to feel the urge to shed a tear was ridiculous, but it was palpable as I peered down at the unflagging motion of his thumb that was gyrating on my knuckle. It was like a twig had entered my eye. But I kept it in, pulled off a little cool.

"I'm closeted, David," he sighed, making me stare back up at him, his eyes, now the ones focused on the act he was doing on my skin.

I was perplexed with what I'd heard that it made me frown at him. "Is that why... with the pictures? You don't want to let people know about it. Is that why you can only say that you like this?"

He smiled, the kind that looked solemn and forced. "It seems like I am not the only not shrewd enough to take a hint. That's why I'd brought you to the bay view at such time, because there's not a single soul who might see what we'd do. No one can see that we're close - too close."

"I mean, yeah, I'm kind of surprised. You don't seem like, you know..."I nodded, patiently waiting for what he would say next.

"I know it doesn't show when I act or talk. As my family said when I was a kid, I was as straight as an arrow," he joked, inciting a smirk from me. I have waited for him to say something, other things, more of those things. I wanted to hear more from there. God, he's beautiful, and I want to know him, all of him.

It felt like he wanted to tell me more, that he wanted to vent it out, but he did not. His expression had changed when he mentioned those last words, but I did not press further nor had I shown interest. He looked... surprised with what he had said.

He brought his hand up to my face, looked me in the eye, and I didn't know what I would say. It was like all I was thinking about earlier was gone, petered into the thin, silent atmosphere of his place.

"I'm willing to. If you only know how much I want to feel the way you do, David. I can't even count how many men I've slept with, and they all just come and go. Maybe they've shown the same interest, quite a few I will say."

"And what happened?" I asked him.

"It didn't click. For me, and for some of them. Maybe I lacked something, I'm not sure. And to be honest, I cannot promise you that what I'm feeling, this attraction, wouldn't change. It may, and I hope it won't, I would not lie. I don't know if this would grow, but I will try. Is that okay? Are you okay with that?"

"Are you okay with trying? Are you comfortable giving this a try?" I questioned, not being able to hide the concern I was having at this point.

"I am not totally comfortable, but I'm willing to try. Is that enough? Would that be okay for now? I know you and I might face some troubles along the line, so I hope you'll be patient."

"That's enough for me, Stan. God, that's okay with me," I answered, not caring about anything, ignoring those other things. All that mattered was he was in front of me. "I don't really care if you're closeted, I don't f*****g care. If you don't want to touch in public, we won't, I'll respect it."

He moved his hand away and chuckled. "Oh, wow, you answered that so quickly?"

I nodded at him like a damned kid. "Yes, I did," I sighed and inched myself away. I grabbed the liquor and downed it with a single go, enlivened by the things he had said to me.

I was immensely relieved with what he had said. I felt like a f*****g champ when he had said he wil try. I will win him, I wanted him more now, and I was f*****g sure that I would as as the days pass by.

"Thank you, Stan. Really, god, thank you."

"Why were you thanking me?" he chuckled. "You thought I would say no?"

"Yeah..." I simply answered.

"I love it when you act so timid, it gives me a f*****g boost. Okay now, let's get to know each other, I know you've been dying for this moment to arrive. What's in it for me?" he questioned, making me look at him.

"I don't know, but tell me what you're expecting from me, maybe I could work it out."

"That was incredibly thoughtful, really," he chuckled and looked at my glass. "Okay, I'll start. Don't even think about being palsy-walsy in public, that's the first. We should be open about s*x, meaning I can ask you if I want to have s*x and you can decline if you wanted to, that's the second one. Third is I expect your honesty all the time, I hate people who lie. And lastly, we will respect each other. Is that okay with you?"

"Uh, that was it?" I did not even feel the challenge. Not at all, seriously. "That's all you're expecting from me? Are you serious?

"Yeah, why?" he shot an eyebrow up. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, they're more complex than you thought. And yours are?" he queried, pouring me another glass of whiskey and cola.

"I, uh... hope you won't have s*x with other people while we figure this out," I consciously said, that a smile curved right away on his lips. "And you also must be honest. As well, we can't meet all the time, so I hope you'd understand, I work four days a week. And yeah, I want s*x to be consensual. Also, don't be too... palsy-walsy, that's it."

"You don't like me being sweet? Even if it's just the two of us?" the amusement in his question was undeniable. "Afraid that you'll fall for me more than you do right now?"

"I'm serious, Stan," I rebuked him. I couldn't tell him straight that yes, that was surely going to happen. I'm a sucker for anything affectionate. "Well, if you wanted to. But you don't have to force yourself, it comes out naturally."

"So contradicting," his eyes rolled mockingly, grunting as they did. "Tell me interesting things about you, I guess that's for starters. Jesus, this feels like a date, right?"

A date, with no dinner on the table, just JD and Coke mixed together. Yeah, right.

"I just turned twenty-five last February, I work for an advertising firm, I live with my brother and my mom, they know that I'm bi, I've-"

"I said tell me interesting stuff, not fill out an imaginary resumé," he interjected, laughing. "Like, tell me what you usually do, stuff like that."

"I usually just sleep when I'm not at work. I go to the gym with my brother and friend sometimes, and also, I like coffee. I smoke when I feel nervous, I've been single for a long time. What else? God, I hate stuff like this, really," I deadpanned, hating the interest that his smile was showing. He seemed to be enjoying the date far too much.

"Wow, no wonder you look fit and fuckable," he chortled, and then he finished his second glass of drink. "You have a brother, what does he look like?" he asked, took my glass and filled it again with the liquor, that it made me realize I was already on my third for tonight.

I fished my phone out and scrolled down to the photo that Davion took yesterday before I left. "Here, that's Davion, my younger brother," I've leaned forward, pointing the screen of my phone in his direction. I took the concoction he poured for me, not a single wince as I gulped. Cheap whiskey and coke never failed to taste excellent.

"You guys look so alike," he regarded. "But you look better, your eyes are so beautiful, and your nose, too."

"Yeah, you're probably drunk," I replied, locking my phone and placing it on top of the table, noticing how his ears were already the shade of red. "You? Tell me stuff about you."

He crossed his legs and stared at the open balcony, a pensive look on his face. "Hmm, twenty-eight, turning twenty-nine in September. I like basketball, going to the gym, and I took Social Studies back in college. Not that you care about knowing. I can play the guitar, and I'm not really busy most of the time. Actually, I have a lot of time," he stared back at me.

"Relationships before?" I asked, curious about his previous affairs. I didn't know if it was fine with him to venture back to the trysts he'd had, but I already asked. It was not as if I could take the question back.

"That was like five years ago, really. I can't even remember how long... yeah, I guess we've been in an open relationship for a year. It was weird. Then after that, I just f****d with people in the app. And you?"

"Yeah, my romantic affairs are really, well, forgettable. I had a girl back in college. I loved her so much but she cheated on me with a guy who had a nice car. Then a guy back in my previous company, he's a terrible person. Really demanding and toxic," I said.

"Wow, you've been with an asshole and a hoe," he chuckled.

"So, uh... did you always use protection, Stan?" I asked, thinking about the word 'people,' and who knew if he even brought a crowd for an orgy? "You look... please, pardon me, promiscuous."

He grinned and nodded. "Fair enough, I understand your concern. Yes, I always have used protection, and I got myself tested just last month. I'm clean. And you? Have you used protection when you were with guys before?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I got tested, I had to, for the annual company health check just two months ago."

"Thank god, I just swallowed your c*m the other week," he whispered, sounding so concerned with the way he drawled the words.

"God, do you really have to tell me that?" The picture of his mouth around my d**k as I orgasm came instantly, and I hated that as I stared at his face, at his disturbingly, beautifully built muscles, I couldn't deny that it turned me on.

"Why not? We're at the phase where we wanted to know each other. So, yeah, why don't you tell me what you like about me?" he questioned, hoisting himself up and inching closer to my body. "Did you like the s*x? What turned you on when we did it?"

I swallowed hard, thinking about what kind of answer I would give or where I should start, as he moved closer, his brown eyes, not curious anymore, but rather hooded with lust, hunger and longing.