Page 56 of Brainwashed

Cobble Hill was a great spot for watching. A lot of guys jogged around that area, and I used it as an opportunity to rediscover my childhood hobby.

Stalking.

It was easy for me. It always had been, because of my invisibleness and all. People just didn’t notice me slinking around, and it made the watching fun. Like a game I was always winning.

I had only recently started going to the clubs in Manhattan, and because I was quiet and shy, I was invisible there, too. Sure, I was approached by the occasional dude looking to dance, which was always a prelude to hooking up. But I was just so nervous around them, I’d usually end up leaving early and going home. Sometimes I would wait outside the club and follow guys, just to observe them, and see how they acted.

In my mind, it was harmless. I was just learning from them. Learning how to be out and proud, since I’d only just begun to accept myself as a gay man. I still hadn’t even told anyone that I was gay. At least not my family. People at school caught on after Bobby and I started dating, but still. I never got to have thatmoment… The one when you say it out loud, to someone.Anyone.When you’re finally able to speak the words,guess what, guys? I don’t care about boobs because I’m totally gay.

The thing was, that in my mind, it wasn’t necessarily an issue. I wasn’t even concerned with telling my family. I was more worried about learning how to be comfortable talking to men. Interacting with them. That was why I watched the guys from the clubs. It was like homework or extracurriculars. Studying and examining them. Figuring out not only how to be a gay man, but just how to be a human.

Because after a while, I began to realize that just about everyone was different from me. The ways I’d always behaved weren’t like everyone else. There was a void inside me. Something was missing… and I desperately wanted to find it.

That was when I met Emmanuel.

Metis not really the right word, since I spent the first two weeks after seeing him for the first time following him around in secret. He hung out at the clubs in Hell’s Kitchen that I was partial to, bouncing in between Industry and Therapy, Posh and a few others, almost every night. He had some friends who lived in the area. A few in Brooklyn. Once I even followed him all the way to Forest Hills.

After that, I realized I needed to talk to him. He was just so mesmerizing to a lonely loser like me. He was the life of the party, but not in an overly loud, obnoxious way, like Bobby. Emmanuel was charismatic, and down to earth. He was charming as hell, not to mention almost unreasonably gorgeous. He was tall—about my height, maybe an inch more—with a stunning bronze complexion. Dark hair kept shaved, like the stubble lining his perfect jawline. Full lips I just knew would feel like pillows to kiss. And his body was insane. He spent so much time in the gym; it was like his second home. Or maybe his first home, since he didn’t even technically have a home.

But the thing about Emmanuel that caught my attention, more than anything else, was his smile. Straight white teeth and dimples like canyons I just wanted to hop on a donkey and explore. It reminded me so much of Cameron. And as we now know, anyone who reminds me of Cameron steals my breath as fast as my heart.

It’s a weakness of mine, I know. My victims fall into two categories, and the ones who remind me of Cam are the important ones. The ones I’ll always cherish, no matter how they unfortunately ended up.

Cameron should’ve been mine, and because he left, I was stuck forever searching for someone to take his place.

The night that Iactuallymet Emmanuel, I was pacing around my apartment, trying to conjure up the confidence to go up to him.

“What would someone like me evensayto someone like him?” I asked Want, my mannequin friend. “He’s way out of my league…”

I imagined Want saying,Stop downgrading yourself, Felix. You’re a catch. You have a lot to offer.

I scoffed. “Yea right. I’m a basic bitch.” I kicked at some books on the floor, insecurities overwhelming me.

You’re not basic. You’re special. And one of these days, someone is going to come along who realizes that. Whether it’s this guy you’ve been watching, or someone else. But the point is that you need to get out there and just be yourself. It’ll all work out, I promise.

Pushing my glasses up my nose, I peeked at Want. It was sweet, the encouragement he was giving me. It made me wish so badly in that moment that he was real.

I stepped up to him slowly, placing my hand on his square jaw while the other rested on his firm chest. It was hard, much too hard to be human. And Ihatedit. I wanted the softness of skin beneath my fingers.

Still, I tugged Want’s face to mine and kissed him gently. It was frustrating, how unreal it felt.Too hard. No soft lip to pull between my teeth.

But the anger only worked me up further. I kissed him deeper, grinding myself against him, my left hand sliding down his chiseled frame, reaching for the erection that wasn’t there.

“Be real…” I growled, forcefully backing him up into the wall, my needy lips working on his.

I wasprayingfor him to become real in that moment, like my own twisted version of Pinocchio. I wanted a real boy. But he just wouldn’t reciprocate.

“What’s wrong?” I whimpered over his plastic mouth, my erection pulsing between us. “You don’t want me?”

But he didn’t answer.

And after only a couple more minutes of me kissing and grinding on him, I gave up. I just couldn’t take it anymore. But the frustration of wanting that perfect person, of chasing someone who wasn’t even real, was what drove me to go out that night.

I got dressed in my favorite fitted jeans and t-shirt that looked casual, though they were expensive enough to impress the guys in Manhattan. And I went searching for Mr. Perfect.

I didn’t find him at the first two clubs, which were across the street from one another. But when I walked to Posh, a few blocks over, sure enough, there he was.

My gorgeous crush, standing by the bar. And wouldn’t you believe it…