It was in a typical student nightclub during Freshers’ Week when I first laid eyes on Dean. And it was (unrequited) love at first sight.
I was in my second year and later found out he’d just started, but it worked out that we were both 20 at the time.
Moving to a new town for university had given me the courage to finally come out, meaning it was the first time I was able to talk to friends about men I fancied.
Turning to my flatmate, a stunning half Thai girl called Emmy, I said, “Oh my God, look at him!”
Dean was a charmer; there was no other way to describe him. Over the next couple of years, I watched as everyone – gay, straight, men, women – flocked to him, eager to be around him. But nobody more desperate than me.
He was on the shorter side, around five foot six, but made up for it with a beefy body from his dedication to the gym.
Dean had black hair that was always slightly longer on top and shorter at the sides. His eyes were the type of blue you read about but rarely come across in real life.
His dazzling smile lit up every room he entered, and Dean had the most adorable dimples.
That night in the club, he was sitting with three girls which gave me hope he might play for the same team as me.
In comparison to Dean, I was skinny and had never step foot in a gym, with mousy brown hair and average looks.
But the cheap booze and nudges from Emmy and our friend Seema, a gorgeous British Indian girl, gave me confidence to approach him.
Confident bordering on cocky, Dean was surprisingly approachable though it was immediately obvious he was straight. The girls with him were simply his flatmates.
We hit it off instantly but there was no doubt he knew why I was talking to him. I’m not sure if it was an ego thing or he felt sorry for me, but he suggested we swap numbers and – to my surprise – from that moment, for the next two years, we didn’t go a day without speaking.
But as we left the club that night and jumped in a taxi, Seema turned to me and said, in her strong Leeds accent, “Be careful, Jack. You’ve been here before.”
She was right. The previous year they’d all watched as I fell for a barman who led me on for months before ultimately leaving me crushed. We never did work out if he was gay or straight.
Staying away from Dean would be easier said than done, though.
I worked part-time in a well-known clothing store and just two weeks later Dean arrived for his first shift.
When he clocked me, his eyes lit up and he shouted, “Jacky boy!” He walked towards me before pulling me in for a massive hug.
It makes me cringe to admit this, but I felt elation rushing through me at the warm greeting.
Sure, we’d been messaging on BBM (yes, I’m that old) pretty much non-stop since meeting and had hung out on campus a few times.
But he was acting like we were proper mates, which I was only too happy to reciprocate.
My lust for him quickly turned to obsession. Every night out he invited me on, I was there. I’d spend hours at the store on my days off when he was on shift just talking to him. I expressed a fake interest in building up my body just so I could join him at the gym, where he was more than happy to show me the ropes. And I acted like it was the end of the world when he took longer than a couple of hours to reply to my messages.
I looked forward to those gym sessions, or rather the moments in the changing rooms afterwards.
Dean would strip down to his tight boxers, showing off his big chest and sizeable bulge.
He gave no indication that he felt uncomfortable around me as he changed and even caught me staring more than a few times. Dean would just flash a cheeky smile and say, “I’m starving, bro. Up for a Nando’s?”
There was no way Dean wasn’t aware of my feelings for him. But he didn’t push me away. Instead, he was affectionate with me, always hugging me and kissing me on the cheek. He’d tell me he loved me and that I was his best mate.
But that wasn’t enough for me. Friends tried to snap me out of it, but I was too far gone.
Over the next year and a half our relationship grew increasingly intense – mostly because of me.
I’d be forced to watch on as he got with girls on nights out, almost always ending up in tears. As a result, I’d get angry – with him and anyone else around.
One night, after he’d been turning on the charm with his latest girl, Dean spotted me and walked over. He put his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the bar, and said, “Drink time, Jacky boy. What you having?”
But I saw red, pulling away from him and launching into a tirade of abuse before I could stop myself.
Dean tried to calm me down, but I turned and stormed off. Eventually he caught up with me and asked, “What’s up, mate?”
“‘What’s up?’ Are you having a fucking laugh?” I spat.
By that point in our friendship, Dean was obviously aware of the situation which was of course out of his control.
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Fuck's sake, Jack. What do you want from me?”
“Just fuck off back to your bird, yeah!” I screamed before running off, breaking down in tears and heading home.
I’m ashamed to admit that many more nights out ended in a similar way. I could tell I was pushing Dean away.
His messages were less frequent, there were no more gym sessions, and he stopped inviting me out as much.
Then came one night when it all changed. I’m still wondering if it was for better or worse.
It was our monthly team night out and I’d invited everyone from the store to my flat for pre-drinks.
Of course, the moment Dean arrived I was giddy and fussing over him with drinks and anything else he needed.
By then, it was no secret that I was head-over-heels for the North London boy even though it was never spoken about.
For the first time in ages, I felt as if things were back to normal between us after my many drunken outbursts.
I sat on the arm of the sofa next to him, but he pulled me onto his lap. “Where you been, Jacky boy? Feel like I haven’t seen you for ages.”
We slipped back into our usual banter. At one point, he took his snapback off and put it on my head, joking: “It looks much better on you, bro.”
Everyone laughed but I foolishly allowed myself to wonder if that was what it would be like if Dean was my boyfriend.
Eventually we piled into taxis and headed for the club. I was determined to show Dean I could behave like a normal person and willed myself to behave.
But then I saw it: Dean was kissing our co-worker Nas, a beautiful red-headed half Jamaican girl - someone who I believed to be a close friend and who knew all about my situation.
I stormed off to the smoking area, drunk and upset, and was still there when Nas stumbled out.
“Hey, love,” she sang. I just fixed her with an incredulous look.
“You ok?” Nas asked while lighting a cigarette.
Dumbfounded, I hit back, “Nas, I just saw you kissing Dean!”
She rolled her eyes. “Babe, he’s straight. You can’t lock him off if nothing is ever going to happen between you guys.”
I’d had enough. Storming out of the smoking area I bumped into Dean, who asked, “Where you going, bro?”
“Do one, Dean,” I spat. “Nas is out there, she’s obviously who you’re looking for.”
Later that night I was curled up on the sofa, out of tears and out of beers, listening to sad songs and seriously considering moving home the next day.
Then I heard a knock at the door. Safety was clearly not an issue for the building managers as, unless you physically locked it, anybody could just walk into your flat.
And it was Dean who suddenly appeared in my living room.
After an awkward moment of silence, he said, “Why’d you leave, Jacky boy?”
I turned so I was no longer facing him and heard him approach the sofa.
Dean sat down and put his hand on my shoulder. “Jack, this has got to stop,” he said gently.
Now I looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “Is it my fault?” he asked. “Have I led you on?”
I was lost for words at him acknowledging the situation. “Dean... I’m sorry...” I sat up, giving him space to move next to me.
Dean put his arm around me and pulled me in. “No, mate. I’m sorry. I’ve always known but I suppose I thought we’d work it out because I love spending time with you. I’m not lying when I say you’re my best mate. When you’re not being a psycho, obviously.”
He managed a weak laugh, and I smiled. “So, what is this then?” He asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied. “People are saying that you’re like in love with me or something. I just thought you fancied me,” he said.
My face clearly said it all, because – looking slightly surprised – he asked, “You are?”
Figuring I had nothing to lose, I said, “I think so. I’ve never been in love, so I don’t know what it feels like, but the way I feel when I see you cracking on with girls, I’d say almost definitely.”
For a few moments we were both silent. Then he turned, looking me dead in the eye. “I’m not gay, Jack.”
I started to speak but he cut me off. “I’m not gay, but it makes me feel like shit knowing I’m hurting you like this.”
Before I knew what was happening, Dean was closing the space between our faces. I felt his lips brush mine, before he pulled back slightly.
“I don’t know if I can give you what you want...” At that moment in time, I needed him – more than I’d ever needed anything in my life.
I pushed my lips onto his, willing him not to reject me. And he didn’t. I ran my tongue over his lips, before his mouth parted and he reciprocated the kiss.
Our tongues were almost fighting as he put his hands on my head and pulled me in. I dared to put my hands up his polo shirt, running them over his gym-fit body and felt him moan slightly.
Then he stood up and I was sure he was about to walk out on me.
But he held his hand out and pulled me up, saying, “Come on.” Dean led the way to my bedroom where he kissed me again as we fell onto the bed.
I climbed on top of him, pulling his top off while admiring his body. He laughed and flexed his pecs.
As we kissed, my hand found his belt and I unbuckled it. Feeling him jerk as I did, pulled away from his mouth, looking deep into his eyes.
“Jack... I’m not sure this is going to make things better...”
My face fell and he looked pained momentarily, before saying, “I’m not going to be able to go anywhere near your dick, bro.”
That made me laugh, as I purred, “That’s not a problem.”
I pulled his belt off and pulled his jeans down, revealing a pair of black Calvin Klein trunks showing off his semi-hard bulge.
Wasting no time, I whipped them off and got my first look at his thick uncut cock, heavy-looking balls and trimmed black pubes.
His dick was growing and already at around seven inches.
I swooped down and took it into my mouth, working the skin up and down with my hand.
Dean moaned, putting a hand on the back of my head to gently guide me.
It wasn’t long before he was at full mast and tickling the back of my throat.
As I worked on his cock and played with his balls, Dean started thrusting into my mouth.
His obvious enjoyment spurred me on, and I managed to deep throat his thick cock, causing him to cry, “Oh fuck. Yeah, that’s it.”
Fucking my throat with his dick, I ran my hands over his body and gently tweaked his nipples, which sent Dean wild.
He continued to push my head down, his thrusts becoming more urgent.
I could taste his pre-cum and lapped up every drop, swirling my tongue under his foreskin and around the large head.
Suddenly he groaned, “I’m going to cum, Jack.” I made sure his dick was deep in my throat when I felt him fire his load, moaning and jerking above me.
As I pulled off his cock, I noticed Dean was staring blankly at the ceiling and prepared myself for his regret.
Despite his obvious conflicting feelings, when I crawled up the bed Dean put his arm around me and pulled me in.
But then he said it.
“Jack, I’m so sorry,” he turned to look at me. “This is probably never going to happen again. And I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
It was a testament to how much our friendship clearly meant to him when Dean kissed my head gently and snuggled in, getting comfortable instead of bolting.
“I love you – seriously, I do – but not in that way.”
