TIGERS DON'T CRY - Chapter Four
In the harsh environment of a British pub kitchen, young Nate will have to come to terms with his growing attraction for one of his male colleagues.
For those who are curious to see where it all starts:
TRIGGER WARNING - Strong and sexual language. Explicit sexual content.
I understood the meaning of “being left hanging” to a deep degree.
The week following his confession about his sexuality, Ethan went out of his way to get changed somewhere that wasn’t in front of me. He had made it sound like I was teasing him, Ethan being the starving man and I a slice of cake he wasn’t allowed to have.
Then what about me? What was I? By the time Sunday came again, I began to understand that I was hungry myself. Ethan had been a temptation for me too and I had hesitated to bite.
It will get better, I told myself. I will move on. But my obsession with Ethan didn’t dim. It got worse.
Every time I saw him on shift my heart fluttered and thumped like mad. Little bastard heart. Did I say he was regularly good-looking? Well fuck me, the man was glowing with handsomeness. I’d search for his eyes in the room when I slipped away from the focus of not doing it and what I met was impatience, irritation even, in the deep blue of his eyes and the crease of his brow.
When he laughed, the sound ran through me like a tinkling bell and my body heated. Head to toe, I was a blushing mush. I hated myself for it.
What a fucking misery.
I floated through the days and wondered. Wondered about myself, my sexuality and how long I had been that way. How did I not know?
I always thought that porn didn’t count.
What you do with PornHub stays in PornHub. OK; maybe it becomes part of a wide block of statistics but aside from that, nobody really cares what flips your trigger. You can do as you please when it comes to whipping your cock, right? As long as it’s legal, that is. And if a dude fucking another dude with all his might turns you on, it doesn’t mean that’s what you want to experience yourself, right? Right?
Monday was my day off and I lounged comfortably in my bedroom. I had Get Lucky playing, funking up my head as I brought to existence a bunch of very angry, drooling carnivorous plants from space on paper.
Every wank I’d had for the past week had been powered by thoughts of Ethan. My mind inevitably went there. Now, as I drew jagged teeth in a flower’s mouth, Ethan and his hard gaze snooped through my creative flow unannounced. Not again! I sat up and slapped my face hard enough to make my skin burn with pain.
‘Damn it! Stop!’ I slumped on the desk. ‘What should I do? I’m going insane.’
The walls in my room were lined with my drawings of monsters, animals, especially reptiles and birds, alien spaceships and a character I came up with called Pin - portrayed numerous times in different poses. Pin was a cool dude, heavily tattooed, with muscly arms and a strong body. He had a massive bike and a best friend who could turn into a crow.
It occurred to me that, when I was a bit younger, I had dreams where Pin would come to my room, slip in bed with me and stroke my naked body with his big hands. Sometimes he’d make me cum.
So there you had it. I had this… fantasy of a strong, heavily tattooed guy doing dirty stuff to me.
I frowned at the ceiling. It’s a fantasy. Just one. I could deal with that, and perhaps I could try to scratch the itch. An idea formed in my head.
What if I offered Ethan to hook up with me? He said I was his type so there’s a big chance he might say yes.
The thought was pretty humiliating. I’d have to ask him to do me a favour and wash away my sexual frustration with whatever a guy like him could offer. I spent several hours brooding over my situation. I was torn. What was the best course of action? Eventually, I typed something on Reddit. I created a throwaway account and posted:
I am sexually attracted to a male colleague but I’m straight.
I was aware that the statement was a tidbit contradictory but I couldn’t say I was bisexual, really, could I? I liked girls. I knew this as a fact. With guys, things were not as clear to me. Perhaps it was just the one instance where all I wanted was to try something new.
I hadn’t had sex in fuck-knows how long. My last girlfriend and I broke up just before I turned eighteen. Then life moved on. I went to stay with my brother. I’d started working and work was what my existence gravitated around. It’d been only me and my hand since.
In the post, I’d explained as accurately as I could what my situation was. After a few minutes, a dozen replies sent my phone haywire. It pingend and pinged again. As expected, some people said I was just another closeted gay guy or at least a bi dude who “asked the stupid question” but many others were understanding and supportive.
You’re young. Yours is an age of experimentation. Find what you like, see what works for you. Sexuality is fluid. Nothing is set in stone.
The idea that I had control over this, that what I felt didn’t mean that I’d lost myself was reassuring. It was only a sexual thing. An impulse. I was still me.
After a long twenty minutes of pondering, I grabbed my phone and texted Ethan.
‘Listen, dude. I think we need to talk.’
I sent the message and regretted it instantly. While rolling over the bed and groaning against the pillow, I waited for his reply. He didn’t make me wait long.
‘No shit.’
I chewed on a nail and stared at those two words, loaded with so much aggro. Was he feeling as tortured as I was? Part of me was happy at the thought. Maybe a little too much.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask but can we meet ten minutes early in front of the backdoor tomorrow? Like, half past four?’
Minutes passed.
Finally, he replied, ‘Yeah. Alright.’
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