His right choice

   I took off my clothes and just tossed them to one side, on the sand. The wind was chilly and every single hair on my skin rose because of the cold. But I didn’t put anything back on. I left the clothes there to be carried by the water later on. There was no point in hiding them anywhere or trying for them not to get wet. The truth was I didn’t care anymore about anything and I still don’t. I didn’t even looked back when I started walking, looking at the rocks far on the other side of the beach.

 The water washed my feet, as if a thousand knives stabbed me slowly. It hurt, of course, but I knew that was going to happen and my body was getting ready for it. I was so tired of everything, of people and life and everything surrounding it. I just wanted to walk the beach, the only place that could relax my mind. Eventually, I would have to get into the ocean and breath in some salt water. But I didn’t know when that would be happening. It was better to take it one step at a time.

 Pembelton Beach was far from any settlement. There where some houses close by but it would take them at least fifteen minutes to get to me if they realized I was there, my some miracle. All the details had being chosen carefully. I didn’t want anyone to stop me from being free, at least once in my life. I had felt imprisoned from day one, from the first moment I realized life was just this unfair list of things happening to a mere body, an essence that has nothing to do with anything else.

 Society failed me. Or maybe I was the one who failed society. Anyway, we were not meant to be together. I had always felt strange in social situations, such as parties and crowds. The “odd one”, was my nickname back in high school. People thought I didn’t know that but I knew, I heard every word that they attempted for me not to hear. They didn’t have the balls to say it to my face. I would have preferred that. And it was the same in college and in other contexts.

 To be fair, I have to say that university was the best place for me because I could be whoever I was without really caring about others. I had what you would call friends but they are not around anymore and I don’t blame them. Or maybe I do blame them but, what’s that good for? People have excuses for everything and I have run tired of listening to them. As I said before, I don’t care anymore. Not at all. I just want to move on to something else, whatever that may be. Does it sound tragic and melodramatic? As you might guess, I don’t care.

 After the first twenty minutes, the cold water started feeling less painful, as well as the wind. I stopped crossing my arms over my chest and I just held them to the side. The ocean was getting more and more violent, as a storm was clearly coming from deep into the open ocean. The clouds had rapidly turned from white to almost black. And I could even see some thunders far into the sea. It was beautiful in a way. It seemed everything I felt was being reflected by the weather.

 I would have wanted rain to come faster but it didn’t seem to want to downpour just yet, so I walked on. I remembered many other times in my life when rain had been a factor. When being stood up by someone or just staying home safe, as it was the only place I could really feel protected. I lived with my parents, of course. I still do, in a way. The point is I felt taken care of because they were there and because I knew there was no other way for me. I can hear you think…

 Love was always a really weird thing for me. To be honest, I don’t think it exists. I never did. I did see some traces of it in other people’s lives but maybe it was something else. Maybe it’s just that people are too afraid to be alone and they just cheat themselves into having a relationship that they think it’s based on love, when in reality they just have a very basic human need to feel someone else close by, to feel someone else’s warmth. Of course, I felt that too. Not that it mattered.

 The sand on Pemberton Beach is very black, probably because of the ancient volcanic origin of the region. The big boulders scattered all over are also dark, doubling as a home for many sea creatures. As I walked down the natural path, I saw several crabs, in various sizes. Those small creatures made me think that life may not be as complicated as I think it is. However, they free of our society, our brains that torture us every day with things that will never happen to us.

 Someone once asked me what my dream for the future was. It happened on a job interview and it kind of shocked me. Not only because dreams are not something I have, but also because the question was asked in singular, as if most people had only one dream. Maybe they meant work wise but I just couldn’t answer the question. And I have never being good at lying, so I told the man I didn’t have dreams for the future, only hopes. For a future where I could be free, truly free. Of course, the man ended the interview there and I never heard from that company again.

 I went to several interviews and I applied to so many jobs. That ended recently, when I finally got a menial job at a company handling papers and getting coffee. After so many millions spent and time wasted, I ended up being the guy they ask for more milk or sugar or those stupid stick to stir up the coffee. You can guess I wasn’t very happy with it and that’s why I left it last week and came to this beach. My parents were disappointed but there was no other way.

 Begging was involved in getting the money for this trip but they eventually gave it to me, after promises it would be just for a weekend and that I would help them by looking at some houses for them to buy. They want a house by the beach to spend their elder years. With that excuse I travelled here yesterday and now I’m naked on a beach, far from any other human being that could intervene at what I’m going to do. That’s exactly how I planned it, many months ago.

 Because this idea had been around my head for a long time. It had appeared first when I was in school and many times more until now. The difference is I can finally do it now because I didn’t feel any remorse. I just felt I had to do it and I didn’t care about anything else. There was no other way right then and I did not want to listen to long speeches about people who cared about me, or wanted me stay around. If they did, they would have been around. My parents, they were prepared, or so I thought.

 Pain is always harder at first, that’s always the case. They knew how to handle it and had other children, which helps. As I entered the ocean, after a long walk, I realized it was the right moment to do it. I felt happy for the first time in a long time because I knew I was doing the right thing. I was finally doing something that made sense. My life was explained to me in those last moments and I realized it served a purpose. But that’s a long explanation, and I’m tired now.

 My body was drowned in just a few minutes. It is one of the most horrible deaths but I did it exactly as I had researched it. Big gulps and avoid moving too much. It worked exactly as it was supposed to. I was washed ashore the next day, when they discovered me.

 Now, I’m at peace. I’m finally free at there is no way someone can convince me I didn’t do the right thing. What was my function in life, if not ending up here? I wasn’t good alive, I was a waste of space and matter. Now, I’m finally who I was supposed to be.

Boxing wounds

   Curing the knuckles had become something of a tradition after each fight. His gloves had to be removed carefully, or the pain would drive him furious if he had lost or would have ruined his moment if he had won. The Hammer was the nickname chosen by the fans to refer to him and he certainly had some thing reminiscent of that object. Not only was he overwhelmingly strong, he was also taller than most boxers and would always use that in his advantage, in very clever ways.

 Carefully, some pure alcohol would be applied to his hands and to the rest of his body, wherever he could have scars. This was done after he showered himself thoroughly. It had been known to happen that he was so weak after a fight that someone went into the showers with him in order to help him stand and use the soap. That normally happened when he had lost and it wasn’t a nice thing to witness. He would always be furious those times and it wasn’t great to be near him.

 The Hammer had started fighting very early in his life. He had been a bully back in school but, thankfully, his religious upbringing had helped him seek an exit from his ways through a sport and boxing had always been very popular in that neighborhood, one of those parts of town where every single person has their family working in some store or factory. Boxing saved The Hammer from becoming a butcher, a machine operator or even a cashier. His future was slightly brighter.

 He started in fights celebrated behind closed doors. He was still underage so it wasn’t legal to make him fight but it was the only way to properly use his skills. He had such rage; such need to be fighting other men. It was fantastic to see him use his fists, one, two and then both almost at the same time. His legs were fast too, so he had it all to be the very best boxer ever, in the world. And he knew this, so his ego started to grow each day, like a weed. It just got into his head.

When he reached adulthood, everyone in the boxing circuit knew exactly who The Hammer was. His techniques and legendary way of finishing his fights was very well known and he had received acclaim from every single part of society: the poor, the rich, the workers, the owners, the old and the young, as well as from men and women. That was in part his undoing, or the moment he started going downhill. When he lost for the first time, the felt everything that had happened before was just forgotten by everyone else. He thought he was going to be ostracized.

 However, that’s when he met Howard. He was a guy his age but not physically fit like him. He wasn’t fat or lanky but just not someone as big and powerful as The Hammer. He was shorter and had shown the way of words and books. Recently returning from his stay abroad, he had gone to the university and learned quite a few things around there. He was well known once he got back to the neighborhood because he had chosen to become a nurse instead of a proper doctor.

 His parents were not pleased by his decision and it was clear everyone in that part of town had their opinion about Howard. But he simply did not care. He had lived there before and he knew people would respect that, even if they spoke behind his back. And they sure did: in the supermarket and on the street, pointing and giggling and laughing out loud. It was especially the youngest ones around, repeating their parents behavior, who shouted word to the man, with no response heard back.

 Two days after he had returned to the city, his sister decided to take him to a boxing match. She wanted others to see how Howard was a real man, and such a sporting event would be the perfect way to make them realize all that was said about him was a lie. When they reached the venue, they sat very far from the ring but were able to see perfectly when The Hammer lost, again, against a huge blond man who seemed more like a refrigerator than like a real human male.

 Each punch, each swift move, hurt Howard deep inside. He was certain that was not the kind of sport he liked to see and he didn’t want to see that ever again. And then more punches came and some stitches blew open. Blood was all over the place and The Hammer was soon announced as the loser. Howard was so affected by what he had seen, that he just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. However, his sister had to go to the bathroom and took especially long that day.

 As he waited, he saw the refrigerator man passing by. He seemed more like a robot than anything else. And then came two guys, holding The Hammer and trying to take him to his dressing room. He was badly beaten and it was obvious that place didn’t have a proper infirmary. His need to help kicked in and Howard helped the men carry The Hammer and take him to a sofa in his room. There, they waited for the nurse they had brought but she seemed overwhelmed by the blood and she lacked most of what was necessary. Howard jumped in, not thinking.

 The woman and the men helped him get what he needed to patch The Hammer up. His face was severely swollen, he couldn’t speak at all. Alcohol was rubbed all over, carefully not to burn the fighter. Howard himself took off the gloves and the shorts and the shoes. Everything had to come off in order to help properly. It took several hours, effort and supplies, bought from a nearby pharmacy by the boxer’s friends, but he was eventually saved from further damage.

 Howard’s sister had left, so he decided to join The Hammer and his friends to his house. He still lived with his mother, near the melting plant. He was carried by the men and left in a mattress on the ground, which was apparently his bed. He slept on a room downstairs, by the kitchen. The men, thanking Howard, asked him if he wanted to have something to eat. His stomach ached, so he accepted. So they all left to buy some fried chicken and he was left alone with his patient.

 He changed some of the patched done and tried to clean the man’s face with a moist cloth. He carefully washed every single centimeter, trying not to make him feel any pain. However, The Hammer woke up as Howard was cleaning his neck. He wasn’t anxious at all, or nervous. He moved his swollen lips and Howard realized he was thanking him for his help. Howard smiled and the boxer tried to do the same. If anyone had been there, they would have told the male nurse that Hammer never smiled.

 They stared at each other and no sound was made. The Hammer wanted to say something else, to try and pretend he was feeling fine. But every single bone in his body felt like it was bruised. He could stand it but he didn’t really know what else to say. Out of nowhere, Howard resumed his task of cleaning the sportsman, finishing his neck and then moving on to his hand and forearms. He finally cleaned his feet, which made the boxer laugh and then yell some curse words because of the pain.

 Howard tried not to but he couldn’t hold the laughter. He tried to apologize but he couldn’t. When The Hammers laughed to, apparently ignoring his own state, he realized there was nothing to fear about his reaction. Laughter was definitely needed.

 When the laughter subsided and just moments before they could smell fried chicken, the boxer grabbed one of Howard’s hands and told him his name was Kevin. They both smiled. Afterwards, they all ate and new relationships began to blossom, slowly.

One night

   His body was just perfection: tight in all the right places, soft skin, a beautiful natural smell and a taste anyone would love to enjoy. I had met him only a couple of hours before, in a bar. We had chatted for a long while after a group of his friends had left him alone and my only friend in the world had cancelled on our plans to spend a night together talking about our past and present and then wondering about our future. But her work was first in her life and I’ve learned to cope with that.

 It had happened before, so I ordered a tall drink with various liquors and just enjoyed the music and the view: that bar in particular was well known for being a very attractive spot for young gay men that wanted to be seen and older gay men that wanted to look at them and something more. Granted, I’m not old enough to be qualified as “older” and I’m certainly not what the younger guys are looking for, but we have decided on that place with my friend to try something different.

 One of my favorite pastimes is to watch people live around me, just walk by, wherever I happen to be: a park, a bar, an office or the supermarket. I just love imagining how what they are doing fits into their lives.  It doesn’t really matter whether they are men or women. Even looking at children is pretty funny and kind of different. That may sound creepy but I guess people are too accustomed not to care about others, so they decide what I do is wrong in some way, as if it was a problem to use your eyes and ears.

 I saw Brandon (he told me to call him “Bran”), an hour after I had started to drink and talk to the barman. That meant I had already drank at least three cocktails and two beers when our eyes locked and he decided to look at me while he chatted with his friends and even when he stood up and danced for a while on the dance floor. He’s younger than me but taller and fitter. He looks like the kind of guys that goes to bars in order to get a wealthy “daddy” or something like that.

 It was pretty surprising to see how, after most of his friends left, he walked to the sit next to mine and asked for a very sweet cocktail. I don’t really like those so I kind of smiled and he noticed it. We just started talking right there, flirting along the way. I looked every single millimeter of his face and I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. I assumed he was an actor or a model or something of the sorts. It was obvious he took care of himself. The clothes he was wearing were expensive, I had seen similar ones on stores and hadn’t been able to buy them or properly wear them.

 As closing time grew closer, sexual tension arose. I was kind of drunk by then and I could see he was too. It was probably because leaner guys are least resistant to alcohol but that’s just my theory, which I have proven to be true more often than not. Besides, I was really used to drinking Friday nights, it was almost a recurrent thing for me. Which was different was the fact that I was drinking in a bar and not sitting in front of the TV watching some old movie in my underwear, with my cat Michael sleeping on top of my belly.

Bran, out of nowhere, put his hand right on top of my penis, over my pants. He started caressing it, looking at me straight into my eyes, as if he dared me to push him off or have sex right dare, in front of the crowd. I didn’t move or looked away. He eventually stopped to go to the bathroom. I paid while he was away and when he came back I told him we could go to my place and have a better night than in that bar. He didn’t required convincing at all. He just claimed his jacket and we walked.

 I find it kind of strange, but we spoke about many things on our way from the bar to my house. It was a fifteen minute walk but it felt much longer, as we wondered about the people in the bar, the “daddies” and the “twinks” we had seen there and all the curious characters coming and leaving during the night. It was as if we thought we weren’t part of that freak show but we just knew we were and it didn’t bother us. Bran seemed so grounded for such a young man. He made me feel old but wise.

 Once we got to my place, he entered first and started caressing Michael the minute he saw him. Bran loved my cat and Michael was the strange kind of cat that loved to be petted by men and not by women. Maybe that’s because I raised him and he just grew used to me bringing guys to the apartment or maybe his just a very particular cat. It might even be that I overthink too much about why my cat does things and how he does them. It doesn’t really matter. The point is his a guy magnet.

 I grabbed two cold beers from the fridge, gave one to Bran and asked him to join me on the couch. It wasn’t long before he was at it again, doing the same thing he did in the bar but panting a bit, just before we started kissing. He eventually sat on my lap, beers on the table, and we kissed and hugged and caressed each other for a good long time. We ignored Michael’s meows and the sound of an ambulance passing by. His hair on my fingers felt great, as his body gently pressed against mine. It was a difficult offer to resist, so I just didn’t.

 I kissed him on the cheek and asked him to go to the bedroom. Once we were in, I closed the door in order for Michael to stay away. I didn’t like my pet to witness my sexual feats, no matter how wonderful they were. And Bran was, by far, the most beautiful man that I had ever brought home. He was taller but also softer; he was gorgeous but also interesting. After I closed the door, I grabbed him by the waist and gently unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a small tattoo on his right shoulder blade.

 It was a video game character, looking at me, inviting me to play with him. That detail made me smile and stop for a second. He turned around, confused and I explained my pause. He smiled back and we resumed our kissing. I undressed him and he undressed me and in minutes we were completely naked, enjoying each other’s bodies on top of my blankets. Again, his smell was subtle but perfect. The taste of his lips was special, as if he had never kissed before. It was almost magical.

 He went down first and I found myself being contradicted: his lips sad one thing but other parts of his body told a much different story.  He made me smile, moan and sighed uncontrollably. He came back up and we kissed and then it was my turn. As expected, every single part of Bran’s body was made of dreams or stars because he was just incredible. Even now, days after it happened, I find myself having a hard time wrapping my head around such a special man.

 I made love to him for a long while and he seemed to enjoy every single second of it. I wanted more kisses and he seemed to want exactly that. Our understanding on that level was just amazing, so much so that we seemed to anticipate the other’s movements by seconds, making the evening a perfect fragment of time for both of us. When we both finished, we cleaned up a bit and I invited him to sleep as we were, hugging if possible. He smiled and fell asleep in seconds on my chest.

 When I woke up, he was still sleeping. The morning light made him look even more perfect. I knew something strange was to blame for such an encounter by I decided not to doubt it and just let it end on a high note. And it did, hours after, having breakfast together, talking a bit more.

 We didn’t exchange numbers or emails, not even social media nicknames. He knows where I live and I know the bar he likes. We might run into each other again but it might not be as special as that night was. And that’s fine. We made each other happy for a moment and that’s more than enough.

Mirrors

   He took off the condom carelessly, threw it on the bin and look at himself in the mirror. For years, he had known he was a very attractive man. Men and women always made comments about how good he looked and how educated and well dressed he always was in parties, even if they weren’t the kind of parties to dress up to. His hair had always been shiny, his teeth white and his muscles very well toned and defined. He didn’t really have much to complain on the front.

 However, as he saw closed the door to pee in privacy, he looked at himself again on the mirror but saw someone else. He was suddenly looking at a short kid, kind of chubby and with a serious acne problem, which was odd because he seemed too young to be having acne problems. That was him when he was about ten years old, maybe a little younger or a little older. Maybe it wasn’t really him but the image he had of himself after so many years of looking at himself in mirrors.

 The man looked on, even after being done in the toilet. He looked at himself naked and saw beyond what people saw every single day. They loved his ripped abdomen but then he recalled he had worked for that body, day and night, paying month after month of a gym membership his parents had bought him to help his poor self-esteem. They had taken the advice of a teacher and the boy just ran with it, going every single day for a couple of hours. He was thirteen back then.

 Outside the bathroom, shuffling could be heard. He was back in the real world, a place he hated to be in but had to love in, like everyone else. Looking at mirrors had always been a way for him to be at ease, because that way he could see beyond everything. His goals were always clearer when he looked at himself on a mirror. It didn’t matter if it was the elevator of an old building or the wet toilet of a very rundown cruising bar; he felt mirror gave him a door, a way to escape.

 Sadly, there was no one to talk about what he felt. People always seem to now what he wanted and how he was going to get it. It was because he was better looking and a success romantically. They only knew the cover story but they were fascinated by that man that paid a great apartment, a car and many other things, only by modeling in underwear for several companies. And to be fair, he was very successful that way. But not enough. There were always younger, hotter models to be in advertisements of any kind, and they didn’t mind doing whatever the job needed them to do.

 That was how he started performing sexual favors in order to get money. However, at first he only did it to gain the contracts he needed so badly to keep having a stable income. But then, as he gained popularity, he started to do to win more money, to keep his lifestyle alive. It was impossible to live properly by only putting on a speedo. He needed to do more than that and he did. He took off every single piece of clothing and became an escort for the rich and wealthy who visited the city.

 He let water flow on the sink and looked at the water for a while. He put his hands under it for a bit and then used the humidity to comb his hair. It was a calming motion, to pull his hair back and forth, to get it just right on his head. It made his head quieter, better for thinking about what he was doing to do next. But the conclusion he reached was always the same: he needed the money, so he would keep going out with those rich men until he had enough saved to stop having sex with them.

 However, saving was not something he did, not as often as he wanted at least. Most of the money came and went, spent mostly on clothing, skincare, his gym membership and the payment of his debts, of which he mad many. All of that wasn’t cheap at all and only a very small amount of money was spared every month. That tiny amount went to his savings account but it almost didn’t grow at all. The last time he checked, he wasn’t close to live a really freed life. Not by a long shot.

 There was a knock on the door and then a deep voice. The man outside told him that he needed to get going, so he wanted to know if the younger man needed a ride. He answered “No”, bluntly. The man answered back with: “I had a great time. You can stay the rest of the night of you want”. When he heard the door of the bedroom closing, the young man stepped outside and noticed his client had left everything in a very neat order, except the bed sheets, which were a mess.

 He let himself fall on the bed and lay there naked for five minutes or so. It almost never happened that his clients just left. They normally wanted to talk or play some creepy old fantasy that they had. Even after the sex was done, they still wanted the charade to go on for as long as they wanted. They thought that time is money and when paying a room in a luxury hotel for a whole night, they wanted to get their money’s worth. The same was applied to him. He was no better than something like a room, a thing. He was very well aware of that analogy.

 He was merchandise. After all, it had been him who had started everything, even asking clients to recommend his services to others and so on. He had a website with pictures and videos, not showing his face of course, and it was visited daily by hundreds of lonely men. Only a handful could actually pay the price to spend a night with him, as he had several rules and conditions to actually let them even look at him. He used his looks in his own advantage and he did very well.

 However, he had heard of competition and there were many young men in need of money who delivered the same services for cheaper. They were mostly college or high school students who needed money to pay for education. And they were younger and better looking than him, at least in the eyes of his clients. He had to take care for them in the world of modeling and also in the world of escorts. His life was tougher than many would have thought so, but he had chosen and he always reminded himself of that.

 He got on his feet and walked towards the window. He looked outside: the sun was rising and, in a few hours, the streets would be filled with people going from one place to the other. He grabbed his jacket, which he had put on a chair just by the window, and took a lighter and a cigarette from one of the pockets. It wasn’t allowed but he didn’t care at all. He opened the window and started smoking, feeling the cold wind of the morning on his thighs, penis, abdomen and chest.

 He looked down, towards the people, and he kept thinking of other ways to achieve his ultimate goal, which was to live like a superstar without having to do everything that he did to live like that. He could learn a proper skill, but that meant spending money on education. That way was a no go from the start. He could create some kind of enterprise but he had no ideas of what to do. His body was all he had and it was already difficult enough to be a model in such a crowded industry.

 The cigarette fell to the ground when he finished smoking, when he realized there was no way out and he had to keep doing what he did, until something else happened and changed his world. There was no other way about it, no matter what people thought about his so-called advantages.

 He put on his clothes, looked at himself on the mirror once again and then stepped outside the room. In the elevator, he saw that kid from his past again but he closed his eyes until the machine stopped and he walked fast towards the exit, into the cold streets of an uninviting city.