I can't do this alone anymore. For reasons too lengthy to list here, I have been alone most of my life. It would be a good story of how your 'average' good guy slips through the cracks at every turn; and manages to never (yet) find himself, or another.
"On the shelf. It's on the shelf above the sink." Otis is trying to tell me where the key is to the basement freezer. He joined our work crew last month; and we became friends after just a few days. We spent about an hour at his gym tonight; and he invited me to his place for dinner.
"Got it. I'll be right there." This is the first time he has invited me to his house for dinner, or for anything for that matter. Stupid company rules frown on worker friendships. He asked anyway. I said yes.
"So what's for dinner, big guy?" I call him that because it's obvious. Otis is of Scottish descent; and at 6'2", 220lbs., he towers over me by about 5 inches. Okay, maybe not towers, but I do feel a wee bit shorter at my 5'9". His build is muscular. My build is...not. Okay. Maybe you'd call me 'athletic'. Maybe you wouldn't call me at all.
"Fresh salmon steaks, Dillon. Just gonna get some sides to go with it. A good strong fish for my good strong friend!" I am blushing.
"Yeah, right." My smile and sarcasm hardly hides how I feel about his comment. In his presence I feel safe, alert, and very turned on. I am gay. Duh!
"You are stronger than you know, Dill. I see behind the curtain." My eyes fill with tears. I have never felt strong, or competent, or a real part of anything. The cap on my emotions and needs is screwed on so tight that at this point in my life, I can not seem to loosen the weighty cover.
"Otis." His arms are now full of stuff for dinner.
"Yeah?" I follow him back up the stairs to his kitchen. His bulbous butt is just inches from my face. My mind imagines him going up the steps naked, his cheeks bouncing with each upward step. His broad back blocks my view ahead of him.
His thighs are thick and strong. My dick is screaming for release. I hardly jerk off anymore, maybe once a week at most. There doesn't seem to be any point to it. I grew tired of imagining myself with a lover long ago. Those thoughts became a mocking of my sad reality. Then Otis came into my life.
"Why are we friends? I mean, I really like you, O, I do. Too much, maybe. That usually is the first sign of impending rejection for me." At the top of the stairs, his arms still laden with foodstuffs, he turns to look down at me, two steps below the landing.
"Because you're short, cute and funny. Look how much taller I am!" He bursts out laughing. It's not a mocking laugh. His smile and eyes reveal the answer I was hoping for. I just shake my head.
"Duffous. Can I help with dinner?" We have made it to the kitchen counter. A few bags of food have rolled to the floor. I instinctively bend down to pick them up; and as I stand, food in hand, Otis and I are now face to face. Inches apart. Eyeball to eyeball. About as close as we can get without... I pull away, place the food back on the counter, and move to the other side of the kitchen island.
"Get back here." It is a gentle command, spoken softly, with a tone that melts my heart. My legs also melt, and I hold the counter's edge for support as I sidle back to Otis. My gaze is downward. It mirrors my self worth.
"Dillon. Look at me. Please." His big baritone voice is very soothing to my ears. My voice, also baritone, tends to rise up in pitch, betraying my gender specific interests and leanings. But Otis is all man. For me to think otherwise is both foolish and delusional. I do as he asks. My 'lost puppy' countenance elicits a broad smile to his handsome face. Before I know it, I am in his bear-hug embrace, unable to flinch and back away as is my habit.
Part 2 -
He and I are in an inescapably intimate male-on-male embrace; that is filling me with a desire to let go and go with it...and a terror of the unknown. Without much confidence in myself, how can someone else be confident in me? No matter. Right now I just want to snuggle into his chest. My arms leave my side and wrap around him. His body feels densely muscular against my arms. I find myself holding tighter. To my surprise and shame, my tears start to flow and I let out a muffled whimper.
"That's it. Let it go. I get you, Dillon. I know." He sounds so wise. How can he know? "I know how lonely you are. I have walked in your shoes. My own outcast path used to burden me as it has you. There is no hiding that from me." My God. Someone knows!
"I asked why we are fiends. I may have my answer now. You see in me the person you say you were, and there is sympathy." We are still holding each other close.
"Not just sympathy, Dill. I know how to long for someone to understand me and be 'real' with my emotions and needs. I know the pain you carry. I know that the pain is real; and that you can overcome it like I did. But more than that, I am attracted to the little hottie that you are! You have no clue to how I feel about you, right?" I would not let myself fall into that trap again - my imagination running wild. He is correct. I have no clue.
"What do you mean?" I hold my breath.
