My whole body shakes with tension, but Luke just smiles. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He finally gives in, agreeing to end the agony of his fingers toying at my waist, and he unbuttons my jeans with one hand, reaching for me. Right as his deft fingers enclose around me…
I wake up.
Or, rather, I bolt upright in bed with enough momentum to fall out of it and onto the floor with a heavy thud, tangled up in my comforter. My head hits the corner of my nightstand with a thump, and I let out a whole string of curses at the unexpected pain.
While I’m lying on the floor with my throbbing head in my hands, my heart is still pounding inside my chest, and I’m dealing with the most severe case of morning wood I’ve had in some time. I’m uncomfortable on every front, but my brain won’t stop racing, replaying what happened until I can feel my whole face flushing.
Did I… Did I just have a sex dream with Luke?
I mean, what the fuck. What thefuck?
It takes a long time to calm down. I focus on breathing deeply and close my eyes, trying to think of literally anything else until I’m able to pick myself up off the floor.
My bed’s a mess, and I can’t help but let out a strangled laugh to see it, dragging my hands down my face. I bend down to fix it with a groan, choosing to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking. Clearly, I was fighting for my life against the sheets.
Afterward, I take a long,coldshower.
If I’m completely honest, this isn’t the first sex dream I’ve had with a man. They’re as common as my sex dreams with women, but I’ve looked it up before, and it doesn’t necessarily make me gay. Many straight men have them. Dreams are weirdinterpretations of shit going on in the subconscious. My brain just decided to interpret that with Luke. It doesn’t mean it requires questioning my sexuality. Not even if it was hyper-realistic and so,solingering.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on before.
It'sfine. That’s only my body having a strong reaction to the dream, not anything specific to do with Luke. Totally normal. Nothing to panic about. I’m not panicking. Who said I was panicking?
As if I didn’t already have enough concerns regarding my obvious attraction to him. This dream certainly added fuel to the fire. Maybe that’s why I’m having trouble moving past it.
To make matters worse, it’s only 3 a.m., and there’s no way in hell I can go back to bed afterthat.I have nothing to do but sit with my thoughts until I leave for work… Until I have to pick upLukeand go to work. Jesus Christ, how can I face Luke again after this? I don’t think I’m strong enough.
First, I try to get comfortable on the couch with a book, hoping to lose myself in its pages and escape this torment. However, I can’t get past the first few paragraphs before my mind wanders back to the dream in its full glory, sending heat to my cheeks as it catches me unawares. A frustrated noise escapes my throat, and I snap the book shut, tossing it down on the coffee table. I claw my hands through my hair and groan.
This doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been this nonplussed before, and it’s unsettling to think that one simple, little sex dream involving a man—even a man with a body asdevastatingas Luke’s—could be enough to throw me into such a tailspin. I don’tthinkI’ve ever been attracted to another man before, and I don’t know how to react. Where’s the instruction manual for ‘You Might Not Be as Straight as You Thought’?
I’m too worked up, that’s all. Stuck in my head. I’m trying to relax when there’s so much pent-up energy inside me that it’llnever work. Instead of forcing myself to ignore it, I have to move through it. I won’t be able to do that sitting on my couch. Maybe some exercise will help.
There’s a Planet Fitness a few towns over that I have a membership to, so despite the hour, I get dressed and drive down there. Thank God for 24-hour gyms.
It’s mostly empty, save for two or three other people milling about. Either they’re night owls, or their days start much earlier than mine. Thankfully, they’re all too preoccupied with their workouts to pay attention to me.
I make a beeline for the treadmills and hop on, plugging in my headphones, and turning on the heaviest heavy-metal playlist I can find. While the music blares in my ears at intense volume, the vocalists and instruments screaming at near-unintelligible decibels, I run for almost four miles without stopping, feeling my heart pumping inside my chest.
It's hard to focus on anything with this kind of noise drowning out my thoughts, and the all-consuming fire of a good workout burns through my chest, leaving everything else behind.
By the end, I’m a sweaty mess, but as I take the speed down to walk it out and calm my heart rate, I can’t deny that I feel phenomenally better. My head is clearer, and even though I am still confused about what’s happening, I feel like I can finally face it without freaking out.
The first thing I have to accept right here and now is that I am undeniably attracted to Luke. Going back through every interaction we’ve had since the moment he walked into the shop, it becomes painfully obvious that I’ve been fixated from the beginning. Although I tried to write it off as passively acknowledging his ridiculous good looks, my attention toward him was much more profound than simply being comfortable enough in my masculinity to appreciate it.
Accepting that feels like an excellent first step to moving forward, but it does little to ease my overall confusion. Is this merely a one-off? Is it possible I’monlyattracted to Luke, or does it extend to other men, too?
By now, the gym is more crowded with people exercising before work—people who enjoy going to the gym regularly, and it shows. As I move around the various weight machines, I wonder if there’s any validity to my thoughts or if it’s all in my head. Scanning the crowd as casually as possible, without noticeably ogling anyone, I come to some conclusions.
At first, it’s evident that I have a type regarding women as I find myself picking out the traits I like best—curvy brunettes, big tits, and preferably with a nice ass. But that’s not news to me. What is shocking is that I alsodoapparently have a type with men, and now I’m convinced I’ve just been too stupid to notice.
All of the times I’ve ever appreciated a man’s body for how well built it was, I assumed it was nothing more than admiration for the hard work they’ve put into maintaining themselves—that I was a little jealous of how nicely it suited them when I didn’t think I could ever match it. Now I’m wondering if my attention was really jealousy, or if I was completely missing the fact that I was attracted to them.
God, am I that much of an idiot? Have I seriously gone thirty-five years without realizing I’ve been attracted to both womenandmen? Am I being Punk’d right now? Someone’s going to come out from the back room, stick a camera in my face, and shout that this is the longest someone’s gone before realizing they’re bisexual. Congratulations!
I want to laugh at how ridiculous this sounds, but I also feel like crying for how much it makes sense. When I think about it, a lot of things should have alerted me to the fact that I was different. Like how I clung to certain male teachers in high school. Or how I used to like watching the football team practiceon the field after school, getting hot and sweaty as they tackled each other. It’s probably why I joined band—it gave me a reason to never miss a game.
Then, there were all the movies I found myself watching over and over again. I devouredThe Mummywith Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz, thinking it was purely for her and somehownotabout him, with his beautiful hair and rippling muscles. Even theZorromovies. Catherine Zeta-Jones was hands down one of my childhood infatuations, but I was also unusually obsessed with Antonio Banderas, more so than was probably normal for an adolescent boy. I always assumed it was because I wanted tobehim, suave and debonair, with a penchant for sexy sword-fighting. Now I’m going back over how many times I stared at his face on the screen and seriously questioning my motivations for watching it religiously.
