CATALYST

DAVID

       Guilt. Shame. Anger.

      I lay on my back, staring at my bedroom ceiling and drowning in anguish.

      What the fuck had I done?

      You shot 10 years' worth of repressed desire and sexual frustration down another guy's throat, that's what. And then you left him kneeling on the kitchen floor without saying a word.

      It was all my fault. I was a terrible person.

      I shouldn't have grabbed him. I shouldn't have kissed him. I shouldn't have let him touch me that way. I shouldn't have liked his mouth on me. I shouldn't have lost control. I shouldn't have had the best orgasm of my entire life with another guy.

      But I had. I'd never felt anything like it.

      Why was that? It's not like I hadn't had good blowjobs from women before—at least, I'd thought they were good. But Travis took it to an entirely new level. It had almost been like an out-of-body experience. Was he really that good? Or was it the thought that made it so mind-blowing? The idea that I'd finally given in to a forbidden desire just this once, and I'd never have it again?

      Either way, I couldn't deny how powerful it had been. How intense. The fucking walls had trembled.

      Weak. I was so weak.

      How had I let this happen?

      It's not like I was gay. I was attracted to women, too. And I wanted a traditional family—a wife and kids. I didn't want a fucking boyfriend. That was ridiculous. Was I supposed to bring a guy home to my parents? To client dinners? Company picnics? Corporate fundraisers? Was my father going to turn over his business to someone he saw as less than a man? Less than himself? Less than perfect?

      Fuck no. And I'd worked too hard to give it all up.

     If only sex with women was more satisfying. Maybe that was my problem. It's not that I didn't enjoy it, but somehow, no matter how beautiful or eager or passionate the woman was, no matter how willing she was to please, no matter how rough she let me get, I was always left feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Like there was supposed to be more, and somehow I was missing it.

      Like the walls were supposed to tremble.

      I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling. Never again. It didn't matter what the walls had done, because there were more important things at stake than sexual satisfaction. My career. My reputation. My self-image. My relationship with my family. My plans for the future. Allowing myself to be with Travis that way jeopardized all of that.

      I'd told Travis last night that I didn't have a dream, but that wasn't true. My dream was to be normal. To live the kind of life people around me approved of and admired. To be seen as someone who had it all, even if he knew deep down it wasn't true.

      What good had truth ever done me, anyway?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    I hadn't fallen asleep until nearly three o'clock in the morning, so I let myself sleep in, which was rare. Usually I'm up and about pretty early on weekend mornings, getting things done. But today it was almost eleven when I finally got out of bed, and I didn't even feel all that rested. My head was aching and my mouth was dry. I'd definitely overdone it with the whiskey last night.

      I stepped into the shower, trying to plan out exactly how to handle Travis . Poor guy—he had to be so confused, maybe even angry. I'd been so totally out of line to take advantage of him like that. To use him as a weapon in this fight against myself. He was totally innocent.