It's hard, loving him the way I do, but knowing that the feeling can never be mutual. For as long as I can remember, there's always been something about him that draws me to him. If you knew him, you'd know what I'm talking about. It's strange though, he's not exactly the Adonis of every gay man's dream. He's... normal, for lack of better words. Of course, late at night when the rest of the family is asleep, I quite often fantasize what it would be like, caressing those rock hard abs, amongst other, more adult things.
But this was different. He was different. There comes a time when you want someone else, someone that you know you can spend the rest of your life with, the one who you'll want to wake up next to, every morning, with the same contented look on his face. He was this guy.
From top to bottom, he was adorable. He's about the same height I am, a few inches shy of 6 foot. He's slightly chubby, with a head larger than average, although it was probably necessary to fit that larger than average brain of his. His skin, a deep yellowish tinge from his Hong Kong ancestry always looked soft, especially at the base of his neck which spread into a pair of broad shoulders. Moving down, his stomach, slightly soft, he was the kind of guy you could wrap your arms around at night. He was adorable, and I loved him.
Too bad he's straight. It's cruel, almost, the rules of attraction and all, complicated by the fact that he's a friend. Sometimes I even consider telling him how I feel, yet my better judgement always rules supreme.
We went to the same high school, had a few classes in common. Although we were friends, we'd sit apart, on opposite tables, we had our own little groups we kept to as well. But that suited me fine, sometimes I'd just stare at him blankly as he studiously copied the teacher's words.
He had such nice hands, slightly large, very masculine, but at the same time, his skin was soft, his fingers, slightly short but well defined, and his nails neatly manicured. The kind of hands that you just imagine coming up from behind you, sliding beneath your arms and locking you in an embrace, his head resting on your shoulder while his soft cheek gently caresses yours.
I imagine that I'd turn around, still in his arms, my eyes meeting his, revealing a burning desire in him that I always hoped existed. We'd draw closer together, lips parting slightly, eyes falling shut while instincts begin to take over all reason, a slave to love and lust.
I can almost feel his lips gently brushing against mine, softly at first, then deeper, more passionate, testosterone levels flaring up, his heart up against mine, racing. His tongue brushing against mine, the taste of his being, intoxicating, fulfilling.
I can almost smell him, the slightly musky odor of two bodies beginning to sweat as the clothes peel off. I unbutton his light blue, flannel shirt, slowly at first, but faster as my heart races, revealing his smooth chest at first, a slight trail of hair followed by his navel, small yet perfect.
Our lips part, my tongue caressing his neck, causes him to moan slightly. Working my way down, biting his nipples slightly. Gasping, both of us laying down on the bed., I can almost feel the goosebumps on his arms as I work my way down, my tongue filling his navel, while he, in moans of pleasure wraps his legs around me.
I look up, my eyes meeting his, that same desire burning even more strongly. His face, now an expression of lust, my gaze trapped in his deep hazel eyes, wanting more... wanting more...
I climax, quickly and unexpectedly, my legs convulsing as long shots of ejaculate burst on to my chest. My breath, quick, almost panting as I begin to relax, breath slowing, hand slowing, my eyes falling shut, with his gaze still in my mind.
I longed for the moments when he'd turn around in class, sometimes for no reason at all, that short moment when his eyes passed mine. It was so easy to become trapped in his gaze, although most of the time he didn't actually look at me. It's usually the girl behind me that got the privilege of his desire..
Those times feel frustrating, being right in front of him but feeling utterly invisible, going unnoticed. It's about that time when I break the stare and look down at the scribbles on my page, in case I wasn't invisible and he did notice me. Even though that's what I really wanted...