Amity.
Amity.
There wasn't really much to say about it. I've been very discreet about my sexuality. Not many know, it was not really much a big deal. If there is but one thing I knew, it was I did not want to be different. Or treated with indifference, at the very least. I must admit, however, I have never been with a girl. Only one knew, and that was me. And so I perpetually hid this fact from every living soul I knew. Like I always convinced myself, it was not a big deal.
I went to college inside my Narnia. My rainbows were dulled; muted. College is all sugar and spice. By the end of my freshman year, I have had at least three sexual forays: First was no more than a hand job in the locker room's glory hole (and the buck on the other side of the cubicle must have been so disappointed); a mutual blow job in the archives section in the library; the last was a nameless fuck with a friend of a friend when we bunked in the seminary in the annual Christian recollection.
By summer break, I was able to conclude more than a few things: One, sex isn't all that I thought it would be. Two, enough experimentation with boys whose names I did not know. Three, you never know what you can contract, so I am so glad for condoms. Part and parcel of my time with my hand came from my vivid imagination of the three, but the greater bulk of the credit goes to my paws. I spent most of my weeks back home, with my family. I never really went anywhere else.
When school started back up, I noticed a few things. I had plenty of cleaning to do, which was easily taken care of. If there was one thing I could be proud of myself, it was how meticulous I could be. My first day was spent dusting my room, clearing cobwebs, and filing my boxes nicely. Another thing to take notice of was that I have a new roommate.
His parents must have been die-hard Christians. They named him Testament, and he's adorable. He had a concolor, gray-brown coat, and a long tail. One thing to take notice of was the way he glimmered gold under sunlight. He stood tall a couple inches taller than I did, and I already hit my roof at six-foot-flat. He looked boyish, but athletic, roughly about one hundred and seventy pounds. He had gorgeous hazel eyes, and a tender smile that lit up his face, whenever he did. And he did this often.
One by one, he began moving his stuff as I waited for him to finally settle down in his new unit. Yes, it was evident that I am stuck with the cougar, and that I've just given up my spot by the window. Sooner than I could admit it, I then knew the name of the man of my fantasies. A cougar, with messy brunette hair capping his head.
Once done, he breathed a soft sigh, and looked at me, as though to acknowledge my presence. My breathlessness was palpable, as though I was the one moving his first load into the now cramped room. My cheeks burnt, my skin flushed, and my pulse raced.
It hit me with the speed of a rampaging truck. It was road kill. He took his phone, rang it a few times. My swivel chair rotated to turn my back away from him. It was when I finally put my foot down; this fantasy had to end. The ringing ended, and a voice came from the receiver of his phone. His girlfriend.
We were to spend nine months. Three months had already been shaved off, and it was enough for me to say we got along well. The start wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. Even when I thought my fantasies were crumbling. I just had to keep busy, keep my thoughts away, lest I adulterate the beautiful image of my friend. Or covet him from his girlfriend.
We talked about games. He read plenty, and oftentimes, we'd spend nights reading poetry together, with and to one another. Some weekends, he'd spend the entire day out with his girlfriend, and I tried my best to keep my lonely self occupied. What surprised me the most was that I never looked for sex, and I often lay in wonder if I still possess the same need as any other Kodiak. It mattered very little, though, because for six days a week, he was mine.
We shared the same passion for music: he played drums, which didn't make much sense on its own. But I did some keyboarding, with the church choir. He sang baritone, I did the bass. He just got along well with me, like that.
And movies. Don't forget movies. Friday nights are typically decided with a game of rock-paper-scissors. He chose when he won. I chose when I won. We'd pop in movies of all sorts, but once we've been decided by our game, no one really complained about whatever the outcome. Even when I decided to watch Watchmen for the third time. Landmine usually watched replays of American football, whenever he won, anyway.
Landmine? A name I had given him. He liked it when I'd call him Testament, even when he was averse to the idea of being named Testament. But in our room, I'd call him Landmine. He had a habit of sweeping the floor with his long tail, and I ended up stepping on it frequently. Well, I didn't intend to, half the time. I loved it when he yelped. As for me, I'd always be the ever-reliable Kody.
We parted for the winter break. Testament helped me pack my goods, and then we moved on to him. I told him he might as well ship his television back home, because we had two in our dormitory. Obviously, we can only watch on one at a given instance in time.
"Soooooo, Kody..."
I waited for it. He wanted a huge favor. Did he want a 360 for Christmas? I waited for it some more. It wasn't coming, but just before I had opened my mouth...
"Are you gay?"
'Gay for you? Hell, yeah!' This was not something you say to your best friend, so I did not. My silent affirmation, confirmed with a nod.
"Neat-o."
He was first to come back from the half a month long winter break. Old posters of his video games were pushed to my side of the room. He had new games for Christmas, as well as new wall decorations for such things. I placed my special, albeit late present on his lap.
Testament wordlessly tore the wrapper. It wasn't quite the 360 he wanted. It was a Swiss army knife. Maybe there wasn't a need for the 360, because he already had one set up in front of our television. I later found out what's under my bed: a book on Nietzsche, a mixed CD, and a small greeting card topped with a red bow. My favorite was the collection of Robert Frost's works in one pocket-sized volume.
I looked at the book, where the bookmark was placed. The page showed wear and tear. It was replaced with a small leaf of a page, with handwriting, scrawled, yet beautiful at the same time. It read:
Snow Dust
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
I read it aloud; he couldn't help but smile brightly as I did. We spent the rest of the day catching up. And school nights were really spent late, especially since the wee hours of the morning, we kept to read.
Saturday came, and we were back on track. He said he had a bit of a jetlag. It must be because he lazed most of the two and a half weeks we spent apart. When he finally came into our room, he discarded his training shirt, and put on a black tank.
That same evening, he found me reading on my desk. It was the usual thing. He sat on a portion of the study table, chin craned, so he could look at me while I read my book. We always talked like this. This time, he snagged my study in his hand, and closed it.
"Stop reading and look at me."
I was looking right into the light box of my heart. I saw myself in his eyes.
"What is it like sleeping with a guy?"
"Can't say I know what it's like bedding with a girl. 'Sides, it's something not for you. The girl wouldn't be too happy about it, either."
"I'm curious. I want to sleep with a guy."
This joke, whatever it was, was not funny. It was sick. And it was stupid. Excuse me while I try to attach my fallen jaw.
"That is up to you, Testament. Just remember, lube up. Don't forget the rubber. If you're taking it, and it's too much, stop and try another day. Other than that, stay on the safe side." It was more of a clinical assent. My heart sulked. I was not just giving my best friend some sex advice so he'd hook up with someone other than his girlfriend. And it would be just like my first time exploring men.
I did not recall anything particularly funny or light-mannered about what I said. The cougar was blushing, laughing, even. Had he gotten red from how hilarious I sounded?
"Please, oh, please don't tell me you don't want me."
I gulped. I turned beet red. I felt myself drowning, melting in his eyes. Like fire and ice. On top of all these, I was instantly hard. My mouth ran dry, and my heart raced. My temples throbbed with my pulse.
"Say it."
I licked my chops wet. "I want you."
It had to be convincing, because the next moment, the cougar took me in a massive bear hug.
"Go for it."
I honestly felt like a freshman, again. Verdant, unsure, and afraid. As shaky as the first time I held another's cock. Just about as nervous as the one moment I took it in the muzzle. As pent-up as I last plowed another's insides.
He suggested we started slow. Testament was new to it, after all. He bought the idea of first kissing. He grinned and nodded, scooted to my end of the dusk. His glasses were removed, clipped onto his tank top, as he tentatively stroked my cheek with his thumb. Once he cupped me, he toyed with the small goatee I was maintaining, stroking my cheeks still.
The cougar leant down, further, to brush his lips across my own. I can feel my heart sinking when he pressed harder, muzzle to muzzle. His sandpapery tongue licked the top seam of my mouth. He was deliberately slow, and even when it was a few minutes to midnight, he took gentle care, as though he had all the time in the world to spend with me. Good Lord, he tasted wonderful; double chocolate whey protein. When he had enough of tasting me, he pulled back to look at me.
I got up and wedged myself from where he sat, right between his knees. I unclipped his spectacles, set it aside, and proceeded to lift his tank off. What I thought to be his Christmas fat was hard, solid muscle. He must have worked out plenty. I had seen him naked, a few times actually, but I never paid attention. If there was one thing I can hate in this world, it's not being able to get what is being held at arm's reach. Like, literally. God, he'd be up (in more than one way) in the morning with a towel around his waist, and I'd pay him no mind, because I cannot, cannot, have him any way.
But this was real. It was real enough when I placed my paw over his heart, and felt it race against my palm. He was possessive; drew me close with my plain, white tee, slipped his paw fingers under the hem of my shirt, and felt the soft fur on my belly.
I'm thicker than him. Stockier in build, but just as hard. It was not easy fitting in small things as a Kodiak bear, so I had to adapt to my skeletal frame. I'm not a gym whore, neither is he, but we made sure we looked pleasing enough. At six-foot-flat, I weighed a hundred and ninety pounds.
My fur was darker than his, chestnut in color. Eyes were black as coal. By this time, he had grown at least six inches taller than I stood; and this, I approximated by the length of my ursinehood. If my cock were severed from between my legs, and strapped on top of my head, that's about how tall the cougar was.
He unbuttoned the last of my shirt, and peeled it off my shoulders. My paws were neatly tucked under his hot pits. Testament even lifted his arms to the back of his head, spreading his muscled chest. I felt him shudder underneath my touch as my thumbs rolled his nipples tenderly. They soon hardened like small diamonds.
His pits must be ticklish when I prodded them carefully. His elbows were lowered, but his palms rested on my broad shoulders. I felt his clawed pawfinger trace my neck, the sinews of it, before he draped his palms all the way to my back. Arms were linked around my lower back, yanking me closer for a kiss. Wow.
Hands explored but stopped by the waistband of my jeans. I knew he wouldn't stop because I could feel him throbbing against me. When I leaned to kiss him, he tilted his head to meet me halfway. The only difference was that he held his muzzle open, allowing me to explore his mouth. I got to taste his tongue for the first time. I rolled his tongue with mine, and savored his sweet taste, reveling in the warm sensation of being held by my friend. Now his palms were past my waistband, massaging my supple rear. He then hopped off the desk, finding a workaround the divider we both made. He took me to my bed.
Before he seated me he undid the laces of my shoes. Pulled the Supras off my cold feet. Socks followed suit. He worked on the clasping on my belt, and unfastened my fly. He'd seen me like this before, but he paid no mind. He reassured me that he did, when he rubbed the back of the paw over the inside of my thigh.
He climbed the bed and lay by me. He was smoother, and I was more tightly packed. Testament was beautiful. His paws were all over my face, and I was all over the place, shifting with anticipation. Diligently, he took hold of my cheek, and pressed his muzzle to mine some more. We kissed. Without the struggle for dominance. He slipped his tongue inside my mouth, and then pulled back. It cued me to mimic it, dipping myself to seek his withdrawn tongue. Madness ensued when he pulled back to lift his hips. He shimmied a little, pulling his training shorts off. Testament wore checkered boxers, I wore plain pink boxer briefs. When he sat on my thighs, he reached down to feel my bulge. It was soaked with my pre-come, and I was eager to return the favor, slipping a paw through the hole on one thigh. I was seated against the pile of pillows, helping me propped up, as I was exploring and being explored at the same time.
When Testament had pulled my waistband, my member sprang impatiently. He gently held me, at first, pulling the sheath all the way back. He worked on my meat from tip to stem, familiarizing himself with my length as he caressed me. I did not forget him, however, fingertips squeezing the cougar's hot head. Not only was it hard, but it was also wet.
From what I could approximate, he was also just like me. Roughly six to seven inches, only unbelievably thicker. His head, with the way he pulsed in my paw, felt so painful. And I granted him release with one motion, ripping his boxers in two. Fair was fair. But I wasn't about to hurry him.
He moved on to my side. Shoulder to shoulder, rib to rib. His paw never left me, nor did mine leave him. I knew where he was leading to, when he started stroking. I examined his face, but the glistening, cherry red tip at the corner of my eye demanded attention. So I looked at his hard arousal. It was nothing like mine. Testament was cut, just not the same way I was. It was as though a stitch or two came off in the process of his healing, but it was nothing unappealing. It may not be perfect; it was real.
The first few strokes I gave him gave him away. He was a moaner. He closed his eyes as we pleasured each other. He would moan, and loll his tongue out, before winking his eyes open, seeking my own. His chest heaved high, and sank low, and I knew he was bordering the point of no return. I increased the pace at which I rubbed him, copious amounts of pre-come lubricating him, making him sound when I fisted to his base. His grip on me loosened up, and I knew he was coming; I had to make him feel real good. He thickened in my hand, and then exploded all over his abdomen and chest. He groaned violently at the first flood of come that sloshed my paw fur, the other four-five ropes less thick than the initial spurt, but shot further than just that.
When he recovered, the cougar gripped me tightly, using some of his come to lubricate my aching need. He rolled his head flat against the mattress to shove his tongue inside my welcoming mouth, my hips bucking into his fisted hand. A few firm thrusts set me coming. Throughout this incredible release, he kept to milk my engorged meat. He let me catch up with my breath, before he got up, and took me to shower with him.
His gentle ministrations indicated how romantic he could be. He led me to the shower, placing me underneath the warm spray. He soaped me well. I had wondered how delighted his girlfriend must be, when he treated her like this. Soon, I was clean. After I lathered, rinsed, and memorized every muscle of his body, I pressed him against the cold marble. Still under the warm spray of the shower, I kissed him. Frequently, I wondered of kissing Testament out in the rain.
We toweled each other off, and found ourselves looking at our beds. The clean scent of soap, he did not mind much, so we took off to his bed. I wrapped my arms around his back, as my legs found their way around his trunk. He then rolled me on top of him.
I began to kiss his neck, then his collarbone. He nuzzled my muzzle with his cheek, as I progressed lower. Breathing against a nipple, he moaned softly, asking me if I could bite him. I did, and he moaned some more. The pain, I licked away with my tongue. He also rubbed my nipples, and found that the left was pierced. I could have sworn he liked the ball bearing on it, yanking, twisting the embedded piece of metal between my sensitive flesh.
When I reached his navel, I looked up to him. His hands were pressed behind his head. He nodded, as my tongue circled his bellybutton. Testament pried his eyes open when I was breathing against his cougar jewels, going beyond his knot. Surprised, he found himself propped on my shoulders, my head disappearing underneath his thighs.
I kissed each cheek of his supple rear. They were firm, muscles bunched. But he did not complain. I kept each cheek apart with both my palms, a digit stroking the fine hair between his crack. Instead of being put off with this, he spread his legs, feet firmly against my shoulders.
Each scoop of my light tongue made my best friend tense some more. I let my nose rub his pucker, nudging him, causing him to moan softly. It was when he opened slightly that I tasted his inside, licking where he was most sensitive. God.
He struggled with maintaining the opening. I sucked and lapped at his tight ring. My tongue darted inside him, circling his muscle. He moaned and writhed some more, and eventually begged me to stop. My head popped back into his sight, but his eyes were closed. I made it a point to start sucking his meat.
I swallowed him whole, so thick that my jaw ached. He was lodged in my throat. I began to bob my muzzle, at the same time, rubbed his soft, moist hole. It didn't take long until he was moaning, pleading for me to stop. Sucking harder, I hilted him, nose against his pubic bone, forcing his release. He came, overflowing my jaw. I savored his creamy, salty taste, but it was all too much. Some of his seed found my chin.
He guided me beside him, and I gave him room to catch his breath. My meat was attended to by my hand, and I was feeling close. The next moment, I felt my hand brushed away, and sooner than I could whine, he took me in his maw. Inexperienced as he was, I felt his teeth upon my spaded head, but it was fine. He was shallow with his sucking, focused on my sensitive head. Maybe he didn't like the idea of having a cock in his throat, but he tried. I tried to caution him about my nearing orgasm, but that was when he swallowed me whole. I pulsated inside his hot throat and came, causing him to gag a bit and pull back. The rest dribbled along my softening meat.
We used the towel we dried each other with, and cleaned up. He kissed me, our come mixing in our mouths. His arms were still around me, as were mine around him. It was the first time I snuggled to bed after sex. I could not find sleep, but being made to come twice was exhausting. And listening to the soft purr he made in his shallow slumber somehow convinced me to let sleep find me.
It took a fairly good while for me to wake up, and by the time I came to, golden beams had already filtered through the blinds. Beside me was my cougar friend, and he was smiling. Smiling brightly, like the sun. At some point, I had to raise my hand in protest; one sun was enough, and Testament was more than enough. We sat still, just watching each other.
The first move we made that day was to bring each other close. While we may have snuggled through the night, it remained to me a distant memory. Dreams did not come to me, but it was a peaceful rest. Perhaps, I could not remember, but in certainty, I must admit to having been revitalized.
Testament was still on the same bed as I was. Just not as close as I had wanted him to me. I wanted to have his arms around me, but there was this even greater need of getting my own around his trunk. By the time I leaned close to kiss him, he mirrored this, and I could feel him licking the ridge of my closed maw.
"G'morning, Kody."
"Morning, Landmine. How're you feeling?"
"Terrific. You?"
"Great."
My paw soon wrapped around his already erect shaft. Morning wood, I'd love to think. The same with me. He had this huge, foolish, grin on his face, rolling over to the side table, from where he retrieved a condom. Strawberry, it read on the label. I caught the tossed foil between my teeth, tore it swiftly, and placed it over his hard pride.
He filled me up. I can feel his rhythm, that steady beat. His constant purring edging me on. He could look into my eyes, and I could feel him moan. Moan ridden with unspoken pleasure. I wish I knew what he thought of as he pounded me. But he plowed my insides as though I owed him money.
Constant pressure hit my pleasure spot. He then clipped me in his arms, hilted inside me. God, he was so thick, each thrust felt as though entry was unwarranted. But he was more than welcome inside me.
"You O.K. Kody?"
"Give it to me, big boy."
He pulled out, flipped me to face the wall. For the first time, I felt him nail my prostate. I saw stars, my cock bobbed, and a copious string of pre-come dripped from my small piss slit. I did not mind facing the wall, so much, as pleasure like this was so compelling; I just had to close my eyes. As he fucked me hard, I could hear his groans, distorted into gentle laughter, learning me. It said 'be careful what you wish for.'
I came first, even without touching myself. He saw this, because my legs gave in, and I rested on my back. He kept taking me, claiming me like a prize well-earned. I came all over my chest, and I felt him buck his hips. It may have been that he was close at this point, or it was a sight to behold to witness me come beneath him that geyser exploded, the rubber now warm and heavy within my walls.
Testament pulled out of me as he leaned for a kiss. It was an attempt to veil my flagrant disappointment. And when he started to roll for the bed, I was about to reach for what I can of him, but when he had turned, he showed me his bright smile, foil ripped between his teeth.
True to the fact that he was a backdoor virgin, the cougar was tight. I counseled him to take it slow, but his arms just grabbed me by my hips, and pressed himself against my groin. With his feline member underneath my own, we used it as a basis of comparison, and established that while I was lengthier by a bit, he made up with a wider girth. I was pulled closer, tip against his tender hole. Putting amenities aside, I got three easy inches in him, and stopped. I wanted to see the look in his eyes before I went any further. It took half a minute for him to adjust to me.
"Comfortable?"
"I can take it. I'm a big boy."
He began to breathe hard, rolling his hips into mine. The muscles in his rear were all bunched up as he let me piston him. I gored his gut the best I could. In and out, I pumped him. As much as I wanted this to last, the moment I saw his bright smile, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it in. It was one of the times all I could say was 'uh-oh, oh well,' so I gave him all I had, which he met thrust for thrust. I knew I was doing something right when cried, and his member pulsated in my paw, sloshing thick ropes of his come to his pubic region. His clamping with each spasm tipped me over, and with a very loud moan, I erupted in him.
We kissed a final time. It was a desperate kiss, much like what I had become. When he had shifted underneath me, I could feel myself slipping out. The last thing I wanted to slip from me was the companion I made out of my friend, but it was too late. We would never kiss, nor fuck again.
The days rolled on. Can't really say they were awkward, but things changed. We hung out on the third day after this fond incident, and acted cool. But that's just scraping the tip of the iceberg.
We'd watch movies. We did all sorts of things we used to do. We would read poetry together; it was something we both enjoyed. But soon I felt myself tired of this. Why I subscribe to martyrdom, I do not know. A small voice in me had fought long and hard to try to say a small poem someone else had written for me ages ago. It was fitting; a small devotional to let Testament know of my desperate love. This didn't quite happen.
We were friends, and there was no doubt about that. By the end of the year, we'd agreed on being roommates for the rest of our college life. I kept myself busy, never being around when he was around. We were friends even when we didn't see each other as much.
What was it? I'd read it before. Sehnsucht, as they would call it. Sehnen. Longing. Sucht. Addiction. Sehnsucht, longing and addiction. The kind of love that doesn't come and go. A kind of love without the switch to turn on and off at will. The love that is typified with obsession, characterized by desperation. The kind of love that is simple, yet complicated, and stretches beyond reason. The very same love that makes your heart overflow with feelings you could not explain. The love that you feel when you fall in and fall in hard. The crazy heads over heels sort.
As much as I feared this vulnerability, I spoke none of it. But no matter, I brought this upon myself.
They say it was your greatest fear that gets the best of you. It was true when we graduated. We did toss our hats, and then that's that. I moved back home; he did the same. It was only after a few months that I heard from him.
He ended up marrying his girlfriend, and I set him off. I never thought I cared so much. Because I convinced myself I did not. Why, on the first place, would I be attending as his best man? By the end of the day, I downed everything with a bottle of liquor. To a successful wed life. Just not with me.
It came flooding back to me, these feelings none ever made me feel. That night, when I went home, I tucked everything under my pillow. It was the only time I cried myself to sleep since I was young.
Four months, and I haven't had a call. In a way, it brought me relief. I wanted to get a move on with my life. I would not let one man control me for the rest of my life. I fucked with a few, but it didn't feel quite the same. I ended up feeling empty, unfulfilled.
I'd stopped counting the days I haven't heard from him. But when he finally got around to contacting me, it was to tell me he'd be having a girl.
"Congratulations." I tried my best to sound happy. I choked on my words, of course.
"You're going to be the best uncle, ever!"
Six long months came to pass. We'd agreed to meet each other, to wait outside the delivery room. His wife, indeed, delivered a baby girl, whom they named Aria, beforehand. I was there when his wife delivered the baby, and Testament was not.
As to where he was, he met an accident along the way. Had a minor crash, was unharmed by this. Getting shot at point blank with a 9MM, however, did the trick. Drunk driver went off as soon as my friend passed out.
I was crisscrossing the country, visiting two different hospitals at intermittent periods of time. His wife was getting better, but Testament wasn't. Two wounds on a shoulder. One bullet was moving towards his heart, while the other cracked a bone to two, and remained stuck.
"I know we haven't really been friends lately. I don't want to die, man. I don't know what happened between us, but if I had more to live, I'd make it up to you. Dying doesn't sound that bad, because you're here. You'd be the best uncle, ever."
He smiled, my heart just shattered to a million pieces. He closed his eyes before I managed to force words out of my dry mouth.
Testament didn't die. But how he wished he did. His wife left him for good when he showed no improvement. The doctors operated on him, cut a nerve that prevented him from feeling anything waist down. Not only that, but he could no longer write. Therapy just wasn't working.
I had it better; a roof over my head, a decent job. When I heard the news, all I could do was feel sorry for Testament. Aria was left to the cougar, because his wife did not need a paraplegic husband. More so a daughter they could not raise.
Aria snuffed her first candle, and there were only three of us. As an architect, I made some adjustments to my home. It was enough to accommodate three people. It was a big adjustment.
Each passing day, I would spend an hour with Testament. I would hold his paw, and guide a pen. He would write for ten minutes, and then give up. If not for painkillers, he'd be wrenching in pain; he must have gotten quite the addiction for it.
All was well. I did not mind. It came as second nature to me. After all, I still loved him. No less than I had the first time we met. But greater than the first time we made love, if that's what it was. He tried to write all the poems we read to one another, but he ended up reciting them to me until we both fell asleep.
All was well; not once did I complain. Until he started acting up.
"I can't stand this anymore."
"What?"
"You don't have to live your life for Aria, or for me."
"I'm not complaini-"
"I never asked for this."
"I just don-"
"Kody."
"Can't you see I-"
"Kody. Enough."
When he finally set his foot down, there wasn't left to do. There was nothing I can say. The following day, his dad came to my place, got his son and granddaughter. I felt so empty. So very alone. The saddest reminder was the check signed for me that could last me the five months I had Testament at home. Out of boiling anger, I let them out of my house and life. For good.
Life seemed like a coloring book. It wasn't all that bad. It definitely wasn't great, either. So many pages, so plain and dull. The sheaf of paper remained but a sheaf, and I without the will to color happiness. It may be a book, but a book undone.
It had been months. I left him e-mails on a daily basis. I called when I hoped he'd answer. At some point, he did answer my call. All he said was that 'we need to talk.' He picked up the fourth day after he sent this text.
"What are you calling me for?"
I don't know. It was just to say I missed him, to check on him. I replied with silence.
"If you're calling me for nothing, don't bother."
My heart sank. Big time.
"But that doesn't stop me from saying the things I think you should hear.
I hope you're proud of yourself, Kody.
The days moved on a lot faster than I had expected. Up to this day, I remember what it was like, when we first parted. I remember how the minutes crept to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. It has been roughly since half a year, the last time we shared something so intimate. I remember what it was like not making my presence known. I did not see you; I did not have anything to remind me. How it tormented me so. I remember what it was like when we would cool off, only to warm up the moment we started talking -- how you would think it is for the best that we did not talk, nor see each other -- and how you first told me we cannot be too close. I suppose you got tired of it. And it was becoming so unhealthy for the two of us. It tormented me so, knowing you are there, but having apart from you.
I exhausted all effort to forget. As stupid as it sounds, I thought, moving on would be so simple. As simple as just forgetting. And now that I search my heart, I am certain that I have not forgotten, at all. I married my girl. I was happy. But the happiness could not compare to the times we shared together.
It probably sounds pathetic. But I know it is true. Believe me when I say you have ruined every other man out there. Nothing ever felt the same. I never saw in others what I saw in you. You just had to ruin every other male, and I thought I never had to find out what it would be like to want something so bad that I could never have. You just had to ruin every other male. And I have come to conclude that you have always been, are, and will remain to be all that I wanted, want, and could ever want. You just had to ruin every other person for me."
My collar tightened. In the defense of myself, I was able to whisper softly. "You know I loved you. I loved you with all my heart. All this time, all I ever wanted was to be with you. I love you so. I never stopped loving you."
Silence filled my ears. I cued a follow-up after clearing the lump in my throat.
"But alas! You are but a thought. A thought I would have to live without. I have long accepted this. But this is different. The thought that I could no longer love you was yet to sink in."
I held between my hands a page I had written. It was a soliloquy to address a deaf ear. I am now heard. Words I contemplated about. The few lines read:
Lethargy slithers into the scene, masquerading itself as the only thing that could only give what little comfort I could ever want. Doubt, fear, and the truancy that go with it. I could practically just sit back, think of twenty good reasons to disappear, to run away, to go into hiding, and to move on with my life. There are many times I tried to come back, only to find myself unable to stay put, unable to wait, unable to accept my reality. I know it was something I could not face. But it would have to happen, eventually. I really hoped to stop the delusional longing to be with you.
You always made me happy, and you know it. I could not contain the happiness that you stir in me.
Four words: We need to talk. I would have to agree. Yes, we need to talk. I am done with trying to relieve my mind of the fondest memories that we shared. I could no longer keep myself from you. I know it sounds desperate, but that is pretty much how it is. I am done with playing safe. And I am done with trying to get over you. I could not distance myself from you. At least, not anymore.
What we will discuss, I do not know. The outcome of our talking, I could not predict. I do not want to get ahead of myself. However, I can guarantee that I will do my best to moderate myself.
Are you destiny's pawn? Maybe so, maybe not.
I knew that there will be a time. A time to talk. A time to face you. A time to find my way back to you.
And I could not help, but feel so scared. An overwhelming feeling. I could not help but feel so vulnerable. That sweeping feeling of helplessness. It is one thing I would never get used to. But I find that it keeps me on my toes.
As I search my heart deeply, I realize that I no longer want to be singed. I want to be burnt. How I longed for the day that we will talk to come.
Good things are hard to find. Good things take time. You told me, then, but oh, how I find it so convincing. You are the vestige of a good thing, and you are but a thought.
I read none of these to him. He was silent, and told me he wanted to go home.
He came back home. He asked me if I still had that book he gave me Christmases ago. I showed him Frost. From his pocket, he withdrew a torn leaf, and pressed it between the intact pages. What I read when I opened it made me smile.
The Pasture
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
"You aren't gay. Why come home?"
"You make me happy. I could only wish to make you feel the same way you make me feel. And being happy is all the reason I'll ever need to be with you. Please let me. I am not doing this for you. I am doing this for myself."
The next few days, we spent loving one another.
We had a fallout, like crazy teenagers, professing undying love to one another. I will not try to say all the many things we said to one another. It is corny. So little things to reveal a fraction of what we feel. But plenty enough to write the novel of a lifetime.
Memories fade over time. The pain. The joy. These, too, fade over time. But this new reality is what's most real. And oh, we just saw Aria off to her first day in school. She has two fathers. And while we're not lawfully husband-and-man, we are, without doubt, indivisible. Good things, indeed, are hard to find, and do take time.