Midnight Confessions: A Gay Story of Hidden Desires

Midnight Confessions: A Gay Story of Hidden Desires

This deed stood as a favor shunned by all. Nobody would’ve driven to the outskirts of Rubydale to pick up a drunk teammate past midnight, but I did. The sports bar stood vacant under the glow of a red neon sign. As its brick facade echoed the night, street lamps flickered along the road. An air of anticipation lingered, waiting for laughter and camaraderie to return.

Matt, a 21-year-old rugby player, paced the sidewalk as if waiting for a match. His dark-blond hair danced in the breeze, and his physique showcased the strength of his legs. They were so thick that his washed-black jeans with knee rips fitted close from hips to hem. As he fiddled with his keys, his muscles flexed underneath the letterman jacket. He turned around with a glinting smile when I whistled at him.

“I can’t find my truck,” Matt slurred.

“Thank God! You’re too wasted to be driving.”

“You look more wasted than I am.”

“I’m just tired. I couldn’t sleep ‘cause I had a feeling your so-called friends would ditch you here.”

“I’m stoked you showed up, Jeremy.” Beads of perspiration emerged on Matt’s brow. “I thought you’d be all wrapped up with your girl.”

I glimpsed his chiseled abs when Matt wiped the sweat off his face with his white undershirt. My body froze as if time had stopped for me. In his presence, I’d always sensed an unexplainable connection that went beyond the physical. It was an emotional communion that I’d masked as camaraderie. But my body gravitated toward him as if drawn by an invisible force, and compromising whispers escaped my lips.

“What’d you just say, Jeremy?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you say ‘I’m gonna regret this’?”

“What? No, I-I didn’t.”

“Hey, if you got something to say, just spill it. I’m buzzed enough to forget it by morning.”

My body weighed me down, urging me to sit and ponder over my predicament. What if I told him? Would he laugh it off, teasing me mercilessly? Or could he actually feel the same? The risk of ruining our friendship loomed large, but the thought of remaining silent felt like a cage I couldn’t bear. My head swayed from side to side in a rhythmic motion.

“I’ve got nothing to say, Matt. Let’s go.”

“Dude, no way I’m hopping in till you spill the beans.”

“C’mon! Don’t make me drag your ass into the car.”

“Drag me?” Matt smirked, leaning closer. “You’d just end up losing your grip, bro. You know I can’t be contained.”

“Easy, rugby beast.”

“Maybe I’ll let you tame me for a night.”

Under the neon light, Matt swayed as his varsity jacket gleamed with pride. He staggered, arms flailing, mimicking rugby tackles. I laughed, tossing my head back as he clumsily embodied the sport’s grit. The jacket, a symbol of triumph, hugged his shoulders tightly, blurring lines between confidence and inebriation. Each exaggerated movement highlighted the intricate details of embroidery and patches that provided an alluring feast for my eyes.

My pulse raced, filling my ears with the rhythmic thump of desire. I was bursting to erase the short distance between us and feel his solid muscles through the leather and wool. But I couldn’t keep doing this—feeling this pull, this lust for letterman jackets. It was reckless, dangerous even. Fetishism, or whatever this was, had always led me to regret. So, I had no choice but to stroke my arm as a surrogate for Matt’s tempting outfit.

“Are you cold?” Matt asked. “You can borrow my jacket if you want.”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

When I stopped him from undressing, our fingers brushed like high-voltage cables. Electricity surged between us for a fleeting moment and exacerbated my longing. That unquenchable desire to reach out, to touch him, to uncover the jacket’s rebellious interior. I couldn’t control my hand as it glided across the fabrics. The combination of soft leather and cozy wool created a tactile experience that was highly satisfying.

“What are you doing, Jeremy?”

“I-I-I’m just smoothing down your jacket. You shouldn’t put it in the dryer. Just hang it on a clothesline to air dry.”

“Looks like I need you around more often to keep me in line.”

“Yeah, whatever you need.”

“I need you to live it up!” Matt shook me. “Step out of your comfort zone, hit the afterparty with me, and let’s have a blast! No regrets!”

“What if I ruin our friendship over a drunken mistake?”

“I’ll forgive you. Let’s go.”

Matt weaved his way toward my car, stumbling over the beer bottles. I tried to hold him, but he sagged and slithered through my grip. We lost our balance and toppled over onto the cold pavement. As I lay on my back fluttering, his husky body pressed down on me. He planted an arousing smooch on my neck that pushed my heart rate into the fifth zone. 

Every muscle trembled under my skin. I was anxious to escape from his disturbing nearness. It aroused old fears and uncertainties that I couldn’t gulp back anymore. What if Matt hated me for being gay? Things could’ve gotten weird between us, so I cleared my throat before carefully choosing my next words.

“Get up, Matt. You’re squishing me.”

“Not till you tell me what you were going to regret.”

“Okay, but promise me you won’t punch me.”

“I can’t even clench my fist now.”

“I-I’m gay.”

“What? Then, why are you dating that cheerleader?”

“No, we’re faking it so our teammates won’t bully me.”

Matt’s seductive mouth plunged open. He fumbled for words before cute dimples bookended his smile. The even whiteness of his teeth dazzled me as much as the desire blazing in his hazel eyes. Tenderly, he cupped my face in his manly hands and captured my eager lips. His kiss, passionate and breathtaking, sent a delightful flutter through my core. The taste of ginger ale spread through my lustful tongue. Only then did I realize that he’d been sober all along.

Ryan Brü Ryan Brü