20. JACK

We wandered on along the river until we came to Westminster Bridge, with the Houses of Parliament on the other side. As we crossed the Thames, Big Ben’s bell began to chime for the hour.

Both of us said we felt hungry, so we found a Japanese restaurant decked out in bamboo screens and cotton hangings. The food was delicious. We ate tempura with soup and then Japanese barbecue with rice and vegetables. We talked about the wonderful day we had had, walking all over the city, but most of all about the Tate Modern.

That day, I had seen Paul anew, in a different way. I questioned him a bit about his love of painting and what kind of painting we would like to study. As he answered thoughtfully and carefully, his eyes were alight with a quiet intensity. The whole time, I could not take my eyes off him.

We decided to walk home from the restaurant and got a little lost in the maze of old streets in that area until we realized we were at the side of Westminster Abbey. We then picked our way through St. James’s Park and back up to Trafalgar Square and Soho. I asked him if he wanted to stop for a glass of wine somewhere, and he said no, he wanted to head home. That was fine for me.

We fell into a relaxed, contented quiet as we each did the small domestic things you do on a Sunday evening, before the workweek starts again the next morning. I watched Paul move about the living room and the bedroom, and I couldn’t shake the new feeling of intensity I felt toward him and around him.

As the evening wore on, Paul mentioned the possibility of heading to bed, his voice tinged with fatigue. He offered to take the sofa bed, and once again, I said no.

“Are you sure?” Paul asked, his brow creasing with concern.

I chuckled softly.

“Yeah, I think I’m almost used to it now,” I replied.

Paul bid me goodnight and went into the bedroom. Alone in the dimly lit room, I couldn’t help but stare at the shut door and think of him beyond, undressing and getting into bed.

I decided to switch the TV on at a low volume to distract myself. I watched it only ten minutes before deciding to turn in, too. I unfolded the sofa bed and made up the linens. I slipped out of my clothes, folded them, and got under the covers, my bare skin against the cool sheets.

The sensation of my nakedness against the soft cotton was strong. In the stillness and hush of the night, I found myself acutely aware of my body and his arranged like this, in the same space, divided by that wall, as I had been a few nights before, when I had found him asleep on his bed, and I had had to jerk off.

Did we both lie awake, thinking of the other? Maybe we didn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t like that at all. The image of us together that day, me rapt with attention at his words and observations, at his slim body, his pale, pretty looks, was heavily on me. This wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just solved by jerking off.

This was a deeper desire for another human being.

I desired Paul.

I had said we might be friends, but it did not feel like that now.

It felt like something else.

I could not sleep. I was awake. My penis was rock hard just thinking about it, being aware of it.