His scent

   I loved to be the one hugging him, tightly, beneath the covers when it was raining outside or above them, naked, during the summer. Waking up was always one of the best parts of my day because I would notice his scent so very close to me. It didn’t matter how much we had moved during our sleep, it was always a please to feel him close to me. And I think, even if I would never dare to speak on his behalf, that he thought exactly the same thing. I think he loved me back, maybe even more.

 During the week, we would wake up at the same, even if the other had nothing to do that day. Sometimes it was me who kissed him before leaving for work, some other days it was me staying there, organizing my space and feeding the dog we had adopted together. Its name was Bumper, because he loved to bump into everything. Maybe the thing was that our dog was not very brilliant but we loved to imagine he had some traits of both of us. Maybe he was clumsy like me and distracted like him.

 Our favorite days, or at least mine, were Saturdays and Sundays. We would wake up earlier and I would make love to him for the longest time. I loved to explore his body slowly, even to the point that I would turn off my cellphone in order not to be interrupted from that beautiful task. I got to know every single centimeter of his body and I was proud to know every single corner of him. After a mutual orgasm, we would stay silent and then talk about our lives, fun little snippets every day.

 That’s how I think I know him. I think feeling his heart while sleeping, his breathing while we made love and his warmth when we kissed goodbye, it all made me understand him and really know who he was and what he wanted out of life. It didn’t take a long time for us to hold hands in public after we had decided to properly date each other. Same happened with our “sudden” decision to live together. We just knew we had to, it was meant to be and only we could understand the feeling.

 So, it’s pretty understandable that the worst day of my life was the one when a policeman, a man with a stupid face, came to our home and told me they had found him, the love of my life, dead on the street. It happened one night, when he was coming from work during one of those horrible thunderstorms that are becoming more and more common in these parts. According to the policeman, he had been assaulted by a group of men. They had taken his money, his belongings and had then proceeded to kick him and punch him until one of them decided to pull out a gun.

 My first question was simple: “Where is he?” The idiot policeman repeated that he was dead and I didn’t ask again. He offered to take me to the police station, so I grabbed a jacket and went along. It was so very late; I was already in my pajamas. It was very awkward, but I started crying in the police car, en route to my lover. I couldn’t stop crying for a second, only when I had to step out of the car in order to enter the police station. He never asked me if I was fine or needed something.

 The doctor running the morgue was a woman and I was thankful for that. She seemed to care for every single one of those corpses, of those dead people that for some reason were there, lying on their back inside a gigantic freezer. I started shaking the moment I entered the room and I lost any attempt to seem calm when she unveiled his body to me. He was naked, of course, and very white and blue. It’s a silly thing, but the first thing I thought was the fact that he hated both those colors.

 I took one of his hands and caressed it; I kissed his cheek and his forehead and held on to him. I could hear the dumbass policeman asking me if that was my “partner” but I didn’t care at all. I wanted to stay there forever, whit him, even if I had to die too. The doctor was very silent and it was obvious she would have preferred for me not to touch her patient but I couldn’t stop holding on to him. If I had let go, he would have died forever and I just couldn’t afford that to happen.

 However, all the crying and the memories and the deep pain got to me. I had been waiting for him to come with food, so my stomach was empty. The doctor, hours later, told me that could have been one of the reasons for me to faint right there on the morgue. They carried me to the police station’s infirmary and gave me some ramen soup, the kind you can make in the microwave. I ate that hot cup in silence, still crying. A massive headache began to brew.

 His family came in some hours later, after I had signed every single paper that had to be signed. Between those, I had to ask a friend to go to my house and bring me our marriage certificate, which only a few people knew about. It was hard for me to tell his family that we had been married for a couple of months and that it had been his decision not to tell them because he wanted it all to be a big reveal. He was planning it all as if it was the marriage of two famous people. And know, it had been me telling them all of it, with his cold body not too far away.

 They were shocked to hear it all, of course, but I honestly think I was the most affected by the tragedy. I kissed him several times once more, before I had to leave in order to go home. They promised they would arrange it all for his body to be prepared for whatever I would decide to do. I took the doctor to the side, and told her we had talked about being cremated together in a huge pyre, holding hands. She gave me a nice smile and told me to get back to her the next day.

 Sure enough, they sent his body to a cemetery where he would be cremated and given to me. I called his family to tell them all about it and they didn’t say much about it all. They seemed to be still in quite a shock. They did show up to the place and we even held each other for a moment, in silence. We saw his coffin, a very modest one; enter the oven and the metal door close afterwards. Tears rolled down my face but I didn’t cried loudly like before, I was under too much pain to do that again.

 They gave me his ashes and the doctor was there to pay her respects. I hugged her tight and cried some more. She offered to take me home and I accepted. His family didn’t say another word to me, even when I saw them looking at the urn with his ashes when they were handed to me. I wanted to make peace; I wanted them to understand what we had together. But it was too little too late, so I just went home with the doctor. She kindly stayed for a while but I have to say it was better when she left.

 That’s because I spoke to him for a while, as frankly as we had always been when he was alive. I told him he was the best thing to ever happen in my life and that I was proud that I got to meet such a wonderful person in such a shitty world. I thanked him for being my lover and husband, for making me enjoy life and people even more and for always been there for me. I hoped him the best for his afterlife, if there was one. If there wasn’t, I wanted him to know I would always be his.

 Another storm was brewing when I opened my bedroom window. The wind was beginning to howl. One strong current was enough to take the love of my life away from me. I saw him float away and then disappeared into the dark clouds floating not so far away.

 I left the urn right there and then dropped on the bed. His smell was still there. I closed my eyes to feel him one more time and it did work. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. However, when I opened my eyes everything was real and raw. He wasn’t there anymore.

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.