But that’s probably not the case. He’s standing close to me because he thinks of me like a brother. For him, there’s no sexual tension in standing so close to me that all it would take would be for the train to lurch suddenly and we’d kiss. Or maybe the distance isn’t that close but I really wish it was. As much as it hurts I like being this close to him because it’s almost like we’re a couple, almost like we’re together.
I think about it a lot, we see each other everyday. We started at the same company at the same time and became friends. I probably liked him even then but romantic feelings didn’t enter into my head until I had that dream. I’d tried to shake it off. It’s always akward having sex dreams about people you know. The dream self becomes so meshed with the real self that you start wondering if that person has the same desire to have sex with you that they did in the dream. It was more like things started to fall into place for me than this huge revelation. I’m not gay, I mean I don’t think I am. I still want the wife and the kids and the T5* house, the Japanese dream. It’s just this phase, it’s just a close friendship. It’s natural for me to have a crush on him isn’t it? It’s something that’ll go away when I meet the right girl right?
That at least helps me deal with it. Thinking if I just found the right girl my feelings for him would go back to being normal. I’ve been on a few dates but I think I’m always comparing them to him. I kind of take it out on them that they aren’t him. It’s not fair, to them or to society. It’s not fair that I take up their Saturday nights with what feels like a charade. It’s not fair that on the rare occasion one gets me back to her apartment I can’t really think about having sex with them. I’m just not interested. But again, that probably just means they aren’t the right girl. It’s nothing permanent right? No, it’s not. It’s just him really, not other guys.
The fantasy, that’s really all it is, that we could be together in the way that I want is desentigrating. His wife had a baby recently and while I don’t hate her or the baby, it just puts this logical obstacle in my fantasy I have to go around. I mean, before the baby I could just pretend he’d left his wife or that he’d never met her to begin with. But now, with the baby, I can’t dislodge him from the family. His baby makes me feel even more abnormal. The way I want to do things isn’t the way you’re supposed to want to do things. It’s not a part of myself I like. Though that would mean these feelings are really mine, a genuine part of me and in a way that means it’s not a phase. CHIGAOU!* DAME!*
But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about waking up and seeing him, kissing him. It doesn’t stop me from wondering if he gets close to me on trains because he wants the same thing I do. We’re standing on the train and I find my eyes zeroing in on his lips. He smiles a bit, talking about the baby crawling. His smile makes him look a lot younger than he is. It’s a nice smile, though still very brotherly. But I’ve found in my experience there’s a fine line with him between brotherly and romantically.
It’s always the same plan. I go to a party for work thinking about kissing him, about getting him too drunk so he has to lean on me and we kiss and then we’ll be together. Or I’ll be cured, depends on if I’ve had a date that week or not. I start drinking for the variety of reasons and I always forget that I can’t hold my liquor. I’ve never been good at knowing my limits and before I know it I’m the one passed out on a bench while he’s walking me back to my apartment. He leans down and looks at me, his face getting a bit too close. If the world wasn’t spinning and I wasn’t trying desprately not to throw up it would be the perfect opportunity to kiss him. I try to make a sentence but it comes out drunken sludge that isn’t taken seriously. He laughs and helps me to my feet like a good aneki*. This is another part where the line becomes blurred. I like it when he takes care of me when I’m drunk because it feels like so much more than being in a sibling type friendship. It’s the one time I feel like I truly welcome my feelings about him, when I’m not embarrassed about this phase or fantasy or orientation. Whatever the hell I am and this is. We stumbled back to my apartment which isn’t far from his and that’s where I lose the night.
And then I wake up pissed as hell with a headache. It’s over and I know he’s waking up at home with his wife and kid. I’m back to being a freak. Everything is cool, he remembered to help me turn on the air-con. I can’t feel his warmth on me but my hands smell like his cologne and hair gel. I search desprately through my memory for what happened when I got home. Did I finally kiss him, threading my fingers through his hair? Did he suck me off and that’s why my hands smell like his hair? Or did I pull it as I fucked him? Answer is mostly likely D none of the above and that’s a mixed bag. The scent’s not strong enough or anywhere else on my bed but it’s just enough and I respond hating that it feels good, hating that I can’t make this legitimate and I finish feeling both relieved and utterly pathetic. This fantasy, because in the cold hard light of day that’s all it will ever be, has it’s roots planted deep in me. It feels like an invasive species, destroying what is supposed to be my way of thinking. I can’t be this way. This too shall pass. It is right now, as I pull another tissue out, that I really hate him with a searing purity. I hate that he gets a baby and a wife, the norm. I hate that he gets approval and that he doesn’t have to deal with this jealousy, this wanting.
If this fantasy’s vines rose any higher, my eyes would be green.
Chiagou- wrong, bad. The kanji are also the same as different.
Dame- A very strong “no” has the “it’s bad” connotation.
Aneki- Older brother
I saw these two younger men in suits standing together on a train. The train wasn’t really crowded but they still stood very close to each other. I couldn’t really say if one had feelings for the other but their closeness was interesting to me. I purposely stayed away from defining him as being gay, straight, or bi because he doesn’t really know himself in the story. Figuring out that part of yourself can be complicated esp. in a society that tends to treat being gay as a phase rather than a legitimate orientation or meets the revelation that one is not straight with violence and hatred (and the various degrees in between). Obveously being a Kinsey 3 and having straight privledge I don’t think I can really accurately put into words what someone like the person in my story would feel. I really hope it doesn’t offend anyone. If it does leave me a note and I’ll take it off.
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