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*Hello, all. This is a three-part story I’ve been working on for a while whenever free from my crazy schedule. It’s a mix of my own personal story in the past along with another story I read about. If you’re interested in pure, sexual gratification, then this story isn’t for you. If you’re looking, however, for an erotic drama, then you’ve hopefully found something to read. I hope you all enjoy*
It’d been seven years after I last saw him and nineteen years since I first met him.
It seemed as though everything happened mere days ago and yet, when I looked in the mirror, I saw the cruel effect of time, how it continued on without ceasing, taking with it our youth, vigor, vitality, beauty; but in my case, what saddened me the most was knowing that one day, everything me and him had lived through would evanesce into nothing, fading from the only place it existed: my memories; but even there, it wasn’t safe, for my memories too would soon succumb to old age and eventually, death; and death would erase everything from my memories and there would only be in history, whether known or unknown, the story of us two.
I almost forced myself to do it. I rang the doorbell of the beautiful home–now remodeled–and awaited the people who contacted me to open the door. When they did, they were well mannered, but I noticed their attempt to masquerade their sorrow. I went upstairs, guided by the middle-aged woman, and she took me to the room I had spent so much time in. It was different now, but not recognizing it would be nearly impossible for me. Even the essence it had was identifiable; it could not be erased, for it connected me to him. It connected me to our memories.
As I stood there, I watched as the woman retrieved a piece of paper from the drawer. When I opened it, I immediately recognized his handwriting, and the first sentence already had me holding back tears. Then, my mind traveled far back in time to when we were much younger, still very much foolish, and oblivious to the harshness of our futures.
High school, 2003, Chicago. I was a sixteen-year-old junior and he was a senior, almost eighteen. I’d laid eyes on him at fourteen during my freshman year, and much to my confusion, I found him attractive, often times feeling my heart accelerate whenever he passed by or vice versa; but I never acknowledged my reaction and thought I was being stupid. Yet, as sophomore year initiated, it only became more evident that I was indeed attracted to this guy, although in my mind, it couldn’t be.
Being from a liberal city like Chicago, I was aquatinted to the LGBT movements–and by aquatinted, I mean I’d heard about them here and there and saw a few of their marches–however, it was nonetheless unacceptable for me to harbor any sort of feelings towards another man.
Junior year was when the two of us met, forming a deep friendship, lasting even after he graduated. I’d stop by his job during my senior year after school just to say hello, sometimes joking around with him, even drawing laughter from his boss. We liked getting each other flustered and embarrassed sometimes.
When I was accepted into Columbia University in New York, he–in his quiet, discrete way–congratulated me and got me a Nirvana CD, a band who back then, I enjoyed a lot. We went out to a restaurant, and he paid for me. Overall, we had a great time full of great conservations, but it didn’t last; once he saw his friends arrive–his old teammates from our high school football team–he changed. He became the quiet, almost monosyllabic person who had few words on a daily basis and not because he was shy, but because he was a natural recluse and introvert, but he never was to speak his mind when necessary.
They already knew me, and, as far as I knew, liked me, especially because I was rather neutral with everyone and stood up for myself and others despite being a timid introvert. To those around me, I was always called “the voice of reason” or “the voice of justice.” To the guys who came in– three of them to be exact– I was the guitar kid, since I often spent my lunchtime practicing and honing my skills.
He left to sit with them. If we hadn’t finished eating, I would’ve been angrier, and I made sure he saw how upset I was since we were having a good conversation about our individual futures, plans and goals, but, of course, he was too worried about what others thought, as was I, but I didn’t think that a conversation with a friend was something to fear, so I wondered at that moment if he was embarrassed of me, eventually coming to the conclusion–mostly due to my mind being clouded with rage and sorrow–that he indeed was; so if that was the case, I didn’t want him around. Fuck you, I thought and with a dry smile and limited words and eye contact, I left. Later that evening, he called me; my mother picked up and told me who it was.
“What do you want?” I asked solemnly.
“Are you upset at me?” I noticed a hint of sadness and remorse in his voice, but I chose not to acknowledge it.
“Upset about what?” I wanted him to answer my question so I could hear from his mouth what he did, even if it was uncomfortable for him; but that’s what I was aiming for; I wanted him to feel guilty as well, so, although I knew it was petty, I continued bahis şirketleri to feign oblivion despite obviously knowing what he’d done.
“You know… the restaurant earlier today.”
“What?” I asked, irritated, having raised my voice slightly.
He sighed in response. “Having gone to sit with my friends.”
“Oh. I don’t really care about that. They are your old teammates. They’re important. Who am I to get in the way?”
“Danny–” he said, before I cut him off.
“You don’t have to worry. You’re not tied down to me.”
“You’re making this a bit difficult.”
“I’m not. I’m being honest; I’ve told you exactly how I feel.”
“Fine,” he replied, sounding defeating and guilt ridden. “I’m, uh…sorry… for anything.”
“No need to apologize.”
Then, silence between us for nearly an entire minute. The only thing breaking that silence was our breathing. “So,” he continued awkwardly, “I didn’t get to tell you, but I’ve been approved to join the army.”
Joining the army was something he wanted to do; I’d known since mid-junior year, but after we became close, I secretly didn’t want him to go, especially because he had an ardent desire to fight in Iraq. After me and him had spent more than a year together as friends, I realized just how much I cherished our friendship, the new and powerful bond forged between us.
“Congrats,” I said, purposely sounding unenthused.
“Thanks. I have a few things to do still and if all goes well, I’ll be out of here around late August.”
Late August, I thought, approximately two months, then. Of course, I didn’t want him to hear how I felt, instead, I wanted to continue the pettiness by sounding uninterested and upset. “I see. That’s good. Wishing you the best.”
“Is that all?”
“Alright,” he sighed, “I tried.” Immediately after that, he hung up.
I didn’t want to do what I did; I didn’t want to be petty, but I wanted more of his attention; I wanted him to come after me. Stupid and immature, I know, but I quickly regretted it after he hung up.
Jake was his name; and Jake never chased after anyone. He was that quiet individual who knew how to communicate well but chose not to say much. He was objective and very matter of fact, never hesitating to speak hard truths, no matter how callous he might have sounded. He seemed very aloof, and he was, but surprisingly, out of all the people in his main circle of friends, he was the most caring and protective, but in his own way. He was the type of guy who would easily take a bullet for a friend, and when it came to me during our teenage years after our friendship solidified, I slowly fell in love– although I couldn’t admit it back then–because of that caring, protective nature of his that manifested itself in quite a few ways. Even before knowing him, I’d occasionally observe him for a few seconds very discretely, making sure no one would notice; I’d look at him up and down, observe his figure, what he wore, and that only became more common after we became friends.
I had noticed his ever bulkier frame as his senior year came to an end, and how thick his arms and legs had gotten. I felt slightly envious, so with his help, I worked on myself a lot, and whenever possible, he’d help me in person at the gym, but I was too prideful and self-conscious to let him help me constantly, and definitely too shy to talk to him about my results. It was a sort of silent competition that kept me going, but in terms of size, Jake was naturally larger than I was, so I focused on getting “shredded” and on increasing my speed and agility, two things I knew I surpassed him in. I liked having him as a sort of rival; it never became too extreme, but my admiration and feelings for him did. Well, perhaps not “extreme,” but it was powerful, consuming me day by day, and a friend of mine who graduated with me named Louis, became jealous to a degree I never witnessed before.
It was understandable since Jake and I spent much time together, but I usually made time for him, although he usually complained nonstop, like a spoiled and immature child who couldn’t conform to not getting what they wanted, and in his case, he wanted more of me, more of my time, more of my presence and yet, I didn’t want to be around him because, first of all, he seldom knew how to have an interesting conversation and second, he would continuously complain about Jake and I. Indeed, our relationship was to be envied by him, for we had something me and him (Louis and I) never had and never could have had, quite frankly.
The day after the restaurant incident–a Saturday–Louis called me asking to go to the movies with him and two other friends, Jeremy, and Michael. I didn’t want to, honestly; I wanted to see Jake, but I didn’t want to chase after him like a pathetic and desperate loser, and I knew he wouldn’t chase after me, so I said yes to going out with them, already knowing he’d bring up Jake and start complaining. Exactly as I expected, it happened; he brought Jake up and became increasingly annoyed and angry as the topic continued–although, he was doing most of the talking while I merely told him to “fuck off” in my mind. “You and Jake are always together now. Have you forgotten about your real friends? Your bros? Damn, bahis firmaları you’re fake as fuck, dude.” Those were some of the things he said, some of the things I still remember rather accurately. I kept quiet during his tirade, as did the other two, but I was quickly losing my cool, already prepared to tell him what was on my mind which would undoubtedly lead to us arguing severely, resulting in a tantrum from him. Then, the final straw; the words responsible for destroying my tranquil state: “Are you and him fuck buddies or something?”
I replied, “Louis, I think you’re the one who wants to be my fuck buddy. Seriously, just shut up already. Grow the fuck up, clingy little bitch.”
“Fuck you!” he shouted, his voice almost cracking from misusing it in his moment of rage, and because of what I said, he abruptly pulled the car over to the left. “Who do you think you are?”
“Who do you think you are?” I asked calmly, but with enough power in my voice for him to understand that I was serious. I was looking directly into his eyes since he had turned around to glare at me. “You think I’m not going to fight back? You constantly bitch about me and Jake because you’re suffering from severe jealousy, and you end up being disrespectful. You can say whatever the fuck you want, but you’re going to hear what you don’t want.”
“Because everything is about you and fucking Jake!”
“So what? Shut up about that already. You want to have me to yourself? You want to fuck or something, is that why you’re so damn jealous?”
“Get the fuck out!”
“Louis, calm down,” Michael said. This isn’t necessary.”
“No, get out! Call Jake to get you.”
“Come on, let’s just have a good time.”
“It’s fine, Mike. I really don’t care,” I replied calmly, rather happy that I no longer had to be in Louis’ presence. “You guys better not have any other friends or Louis will lose his shit again. Enjoy the movie.” Louis said something else, but I didn’t really listen. I closed the door while he ran his mouth and he stormed off, leaving me near Chicago’s downtown area. I found a payphone and reluctantly called Jake; to my surprise, he actually picked up.
“It’s, uh…me. Daniel.”
“Danny? Why are you calling?”
“What? I can’t call you?”
“You can, but I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am, but not as much as yesterday. Actually, I think I’ve forgiven you.”
“Okay…is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a nervous chuckle. “I guess you can say that.”
“What happened?” he asked, a bit more serious, almost sounding as though he was ready to attack if someone had done something to me.
I sighed. “Well, I’m, uh… here near downtown Chicago–“
“Did something happen?” he asked again, audibly angry.
“I need a ride.”
“I was going out with the guys and Louis kicked me out of his car–“
“Why the hell did he do that?” He was furious so I tried calming him down, although my deviant side wanted to rile Jake up to get him to do something to Louis.
“Relax. It’s not that serious.”
“Oh, no? It isn’t? That guy left you in the middle of the city with no ride.”
“You want to know why? It was because of you.”
“Yeah, kind of. I’ll explain in person. You think you can pick me up? If you can’t then it’s fine, really.”
“Of course I can. Tell me where you are.”
“East Adams, near South Dearborn.”
“Okay, stay at the corner of those two streets, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes or so.”
“Thanks.” The streets were busy since I was near the heart of downtown Chicago, so I didn’t feel too unsafe. I walked around to kill time, pacing back and forth from the location I was supposed to wait at; it felt like almost an hour had passed when suddenly, I hear honking. I look towards the street and a car flashed its high beams repeatedly. It was Jake in his 2005 Honda Sedan, and I almost threw myself inside to not anger the drivers behind him. Off we drove onto the highway to head south towards our neighborhood.
“Thanks again,” I said.
“Tell me what Louis did,” he demanded sternly, failing to acknowledge what I had just said.
“He kicked me out of his car.”
“Okay, I get that, but why did he kick you out?” When he pronounced the word
“why,” his voice became harsh and menacing. I knew he was livid but was trying to keep his anger tamed as he always did.
I hesitantly proceeded to talk, knowing that telling Jake would ultimately result in some sort of confrontation, a nonviolent one, unless, of course, Louis acted up–and knowing him, he often did for the sake of his “tough” exterior which most people knew was an act. “He’s jealous of you. It’s that simple. It’s almost abnormal.”
“Why the hell is that dumbass jealous? Does he think you belong to him or something?”
“I called him a clingy little bitch and told him to grow the fuck up, that’s why he got so angry.”
Jake chuckled in response, but his face became solemn again immediately afterwards. “He was asking for it, so why did he get pissed at you? That guy needs help.”
“Many times before, he’s gotten upset whenever I mentioned you, even if it was something as kaçak bahis siteleri simple as having gone to see you at your job. This was the first time he actually exploded the way he did. I guess he was a ticking time bomb, but I was too stupid to actually notice it.”
“Yeah, you were. Now look at what happened.”
“Well, now he knows.”
“He does know, and I’m going to make sure he really does know.”
“Jake, stop,” I calmly but sternly said. “Forget about this.”
“I will forget about this, but after I talk to that dumbass.”
“I’m serious. If you say something to him, I won’t even look at you anymore, I promise you that.”
He was silent for a brief moment and then said, “Why are you defending this guy?”
“I’m not. I’m simply avoiding unnecessary problems.”
“This friend of yours is an unnecessary problem. You need to cut him off completely, and he needs to understand he’s out of line.”
Jake, enough. I’m not a wimp; I don’t need to be protected.”
When I looked over at him discretely through the corner of my eye, I noticed his expression; it was one of slight embarrassment and disappointment, like a person who tried to please someone but was turned down by them. I felt somewhat “bad”, but I didn’t falter. As sweet as it was that he wanted to protect me, and even though it made me feel loved–among other things–, my pride wouldn’t let me accept it. No, not from Jake. I wanted to be on par with him, and that meant rejecting his protection, otherwise I’d feel as though I was living in his shadow. Being around him already slightly affected my self-esteem, so I had to toughen up and show him how impervious, tough, and durable I was.
“Just trying to be a good friend.”
“I know, but you already are. Look,” I continued, knowing I’d regret what I was about to say, “I’m sorry if I was a bit of a dick, but I’m not a little bitch.”
“I never said you were one.”
“You probably think that of me,” I blurted.
“Since when? Do you really think I see you that way?” he asked softly.
“Well…” I wasn’t able to continue, but he kept asking me, thus pushing me to answer. “You’re this big football type of guy and I’m a guitarist, usually to myself, not very big. Maybe you see me as a weak person or a wimp who needs to be protected.”
“Danny, I protect you not because you’re a wimp, but because I lo–I mean, because I care about all of my friends. Are we not…close?”
“Yeah…we are,” I said nervously, feeling my cheeks burn.
“Alright then, so what’s the problem? And also, so what if you’re the musician type or the quiet type? You know how to stick up for yourself and others, that’s why no one really ever messed with you.”
“Okay, but…I know you’re embarrassed of me, Jake.”
“Is this because of the restaurant thing?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.” The memory of the previous day returned, flooding me with anger. I didn’t want to bring it up because deep down, I knew I probably would have done the same since I too understood how close our friendship had gotten, and we wanted to make sure no one thought anything of us. No, up to that point, nothing had happened between us, but we had created a fertile ground for something to happen, if you get what I mean.
“Come on, Danny. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want them–” he cut himself off with a deep sigh. I was almost certain of what he was about to say, and my heart raced.
“Look, it’s fine. Really, I’m just being dramatic.”
“Danny,” he said tenderly and placed his hand over mine, which was resting on my lap, “I–I love you, buddy. I don’t want to ever hurt you.”
What the fuck is happening? I thought, as my heart almost savagely ripped its way from out of my chest and my palms began sweating profusely. Am I taking things the wrong way? I wanted to right then and there tell him to park the car, go to the back seat with him and wrap all of my limbs around his body so I could rub my cock against him until I came.
Yes, I was aroused by his mere touch; I felt an incoming erection that I would need to hide from his sight. Fortunately for me, he removed his hand, and I looked through the corner of my eye at him, but he didn’t seem flustered or embarrassed; to be honest, thinking back on it, his action was rather pure and innocent, truly an act of friendship. I was the one making it into something more, but that was the conundrum: I wanted something more, but such a desire terrified me; it was truly terrible, in a sense, since I loved our friendship, our ever growing bond like that of brothers and yet, I couldn’t control the increasingly powerful feelings for Jake; voracious feelings that always hungered to fully consume me, and my heart was a fertile ground for its growth and takeover. It was conflicting, torturous, difficult. In my mind, there’d be no possibility of something ever happening between us, and if it ever did happen, it wouldn’t repeat itself and if it ever did repeat itself, eventually it would die out without closure probably, since one of us–or perhaps even us both–would realize that fooling around with such things would only result in pain and suffering; it’d be nothing more than using the other person for instant gratification, and in a friendship like ours, we’d eventually realize how selfish we were being; how uncaring, unloving, thus, eventually opening up a door for sorrow and grief to enter as a result of a guilty conscience.
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