So, we went out and saw a movie...
What? What did you think I meant?
Anyway, I don't even remember what movie it was that we saw. I mean, I usually have a great memory for these things, but, seriously, I spent most of the time trying to figure out how to be close to my Chrissie, without letting on to the people around us that I was doing it out of affection for him.
On a sidenote, I refer to him as "my" Chrissie, but that's only because it's nice to consider him to be mine, but it's a totally voluntary thing. It has nothing to do with property or possession or anything. He was his own person and I treated him like that. Heck, if anything, I was his. Still, I felt that we had sort of an understanding that we were together and exclusive to each other. Funny, how after all the words exchanged between us, I was still really paranoid about him going off with some other person. You'd think that I would have known by now, but given my past relationship with you-know-who, I think I was justified in being worried that he might find someone he loved me than me. In fact, the thought of what Mike Glazerman was up to these days popped into my mind. Only briefly, though.
As I cast occasionally glances over as Christopher, using irregular intervals to arouse less suspicion, it became somewhat apparent to me that my love for him was quickly beginning to overshadow my friendship with him. I didn't see it as, necessarily, a bad thing, however it worried me somewhat. I wanted Chris to be the type of boyfriend who I could kiss and snuggle with, as if we were lovers, and then just as easily watch a movie or go to some concert, as if we were nothing more than friends. Now, here we were at a movie, and I was too busy trying to nonchalantly fawn all over him. I sat there and felt guilty, trying to ponder out a way to separate both worlds, when Chris looked over at me and shot me that sweet smile of his, before quickly reaching down and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. My train of friendship lost, I simply sat back in my seat and resigned myself to acknowledging that it was a very difficult task to ask platonic with someone who you adored more than life itself. Thoughts of that nature, once again, caused my penis to harden somewhat, and, again, I willed it away. Not only was this not the time nor the place to be getting aroused, but I was kind of sort of trying to train my body to not react in such an aroused way, whenever I thought of Chris. It would make things a lot easier for us, if I didn't get an erection whenever we hugged or kissed. That, too, seemed a pointless task, and I decided to try and accept the idea that, just because I got turned on by Christopher, it didn't mean I was hoping to have sex with him. I mean, the idea wasn't something horrible, but I was just trying to...
Ah, what's the use...
Anyway, after the movie, whatever it was, ended, we left and decided to go for dinner. Again, I don't remember where we went, but we had pizza. My memory hasn't always been great, but I guess that, looking back on it, Chris sort of made my memory pretty selective. I loved him so much, that it appeared like my brain was deleting whole piles of information to make room for all the thoughts of Chris that I had.. Maybe it was also that Chris caused me to stop caring about things. Friends, family, school...everything seemed to just be obstacles in the way of me spending all my time with Chris.
However, this is a story, not a lecture, so...
Supper, wherever it was that we went, was pretty eventful, I suppose. Over the meal, Chris looked up at me and asked, "Dave, can I ask you a really dumb question?"
I smiled and nodded, "Shoot, baby."
He smiled and asked, "Dave...umm...Why do you love me?"
I tilted my head in confusion, "What do you mean?"
He shrugged, "I mean, what is it about me that makes you care about me so much? I've never really considered myself to be all that interesting and I generally hate people. Why do you love me?"
I smiled, "I can't begin to explain the exact reasons for why I love you. Partly, it's because you are so complex and intriguing, but it's also because you're intelligent and you have similar opinions to mine. A big part of it, too, is that you usually come across as so bitter and haughty and, well, generally a real asshole, but with me, you're sweet and emotional and adorable and...well..nothing like how you come across. It makes me feel special. Those are just some of the reasons why I love you."
He smiled, "You're so sweet, baby, and you are special. To me, at least."
I shrugged, "As long as I'm special to you, I'm happy. Nobody else matters except for you."
He smiled, "I feel the same way, Dave. Do you want to head back to your place now?"
I nodded, and flagged down the waiter. With that, we paid our bill and left.
Back at the home ranch, we began to concern ourselves with sleeping arrangements. It was not too late, but Chris said that he was pretty tired and was thinking of just going to bed, if I didn't mind. I told him I didn't and, so, we began the discussion of sleeping in the same bed.
"How do you usually sleep?" I asked.
He shrugged, "Boxers and a T-shirt, usually. You?"
I shrugged, "Usually just boxers."
He nodded, "Okay. Which side of the bed do you want to sleep on?"
I shrugged, "Against the wall, I guess, but it's up to you. I don't really care."
He smiled, "Well, okay. Umm...Are you going to bed now too, or no?"
I laughed, "Well, there's no point in staying up, if you're going to sleep."
He shrugged, "It's up to you. Anyway, do you mind if I use your shower?"
I smiled, "While you're here, it's your shower too. The soap and shampoo and stuff is in the cabinet under the sink. There are towels in the closet by the bathroom."
He nodded and left the room, bringing his bag into the bathroom with him. I watched him go, and smiled. As much in love as we were, I supposed nudity was still something that we weren't totally comfortable with, around each other. Then again, I noted that I would sleeping in nothing more than a simple pair of boxers. Nudity wasn't really a concern for me anyway, but still...
That thought of, I removed my clothing and slowly slid into bed. It was always my way to leave an empty space on the large bed. My way of rebelling against sleeping alone, I guess. Now, for the first time since Aaron, somebody else was sleeping in my bed with me. I lay down and gazed up at the ceiling, a large smile on my face.
A few minutes later, Chris returned, wearing his standard black T-shirt and a pair of purple boxers. I sat up and smiled, pulling aside the covers for him. For a split second, this felt more like a sleepover than anything else, but that was quickly put to rest by Chris, who slowly got into bed and lay on the pillow, smiling at me.
"Didn't get dressed up for me, I see?" He joked.
I smiled, "It's how I'm most comfortable sleeping. I could put on a shirt or jogging pants, if you're more comfortable, though."
He smiled, "No, it's okay. I don't mind."
I nodded in reply, and just stared at Chris. It appeared as if one of us should say good night, but niether of us did. We just stared at each other. Unable to resist, I leaned forward and kissed Chris's lips.
"Good night, baby." I said.
He leaned forward and kissed me back, "Good night, sweetie." He replied.
We continued to stare at each other, both of us looking unsure of what to do. There was a pretty awkward pause, before he slowly reached forward and wrapped his arms around me. I was dumbly unaware of it, until I felt his warm hands tightly gripping around my back. As his body pulled against mine, I reached forth and held him too. Looking at him, I felt tears come to my eyes, for some reason, and I whispered, "I love you so much."
He blinked and kissed me again. This time, I held him as he pulled back, and kissed his lips with a passion that was coming from emotion, rather than lust. Practically sobbing, I kissed his face, and began to taste the saltiness of his own tears enter my mouth.
"Oh, God..." I heard him whisper, as he kissed my neck.
I could feel my penis, again, hardening during this emotional exchange, but this time I didn't will it away, because I could feel his own penis stiffly pressing between our embracing forms.