Dan's Conundrum - 8. Chapter 8

Theory: if I were a badminton maniac and I wanted to find the right guy, I’d go to a gay badminton society, not chess club. If I were a bookworm I’d join a reading group, not a swimming class. From there, I could build on friends and romantic possibilities. Unlike dating sites where I could see from a massive list whose dick I fancied, this was more about networking and laying the foundations of a relationship. And meeting new people in the process, I guess. I didn’t much mind that now. I used to be terrified. David, unknown to him, had proven my understanding about people so utterly wrong in these past few months it hardly seemed possible.

Who are these people that write romance on the internet anyway? And more importantly, why? Were they writing for the sake of writing or were they writing about their dream guy and the relationship they never had? Were they writing because there wasn’t someone holding their hand? Anyway, too much speculation and not enough action. I would find out soon enough, if they were hopeless romantics like me. I was cautiously optimistic.

Why did I join Gay Authors? I had no idea. I ran a search engine on the internet and Gay Authors came up, and I joined without a particular reason. Well, I suppose there was, since David told me to, but picking Gay Authors was better explained if I said why I didn’t run the other way: it wasn’t explicit, and for once, people didn’t know one another by the size of their six-packs. During the hassle-free registration, a thought occurred to me that maybe the right guy had always been here, waiting for me. But weren’t we supposed to be done with optimism and unrealistic dreams? Maybe he wasn’t here either. If not, meeting like-minded individuals couldn’t be that bad. The more guys I knew, the more choices I have and my chances increase. Probabilities might work out in the long run.

I went gingerly into Chat, not knowing what to expect. Once again I ignored the 18+ recommendation. Seriously what could I possibly have at 18 that I could not have now? Wisdom of adulthood? Perhaps, but I was not impressed. Certainly images of male genitals were but a click away. To hell with this. I clicked Enter, never more ready to shut my eyes.

Nothing. The Chat, comparing to the dating site, was practically deserted – only four people were online, including me, as opposed to eighty-five. If I couldn’t escape being noticed there then I certainly couldn’t hide here either. The Chat was silent like a library. I was sure the other three were reading or had better things to do than speaking to me. I waited for five minutes.

Second_Chance: Hello there.

Byron: Hi everyone.

So… I named myself Byron because I didn’t want anyone from that dating site recognizing me. Not that I had a cause to be recognised but just to be safe anyway. Byron was the protagonist of a story I had tried to write when I was twelve, the boy who could speak to dolphins.

Evanesce: Haven’t seen you here before.

Byron: I’m new here. Don’t know a soul.

Second_Chance: Aww. I’m Second_Chance. Welcome to the family.

A family? I like the sound of that. I was starting to like Second_Chance already.

Byron: Do you own this place?

Second_Chance: God, no. I’m only a writer here.

Johnny3: A hell of a writer as well. Welcome, by the way.

Then they were silent again. I figured as the newbie I should take the initiative.

Byron: So…what is there to do here?

Johnny3: We read stories.

Second_Chance: And some of us write them.

Byron: Can I read one of your stories?

Second_Chance: Sure.

He gave me a link and I clicked. Within paragraphs I was thrown into a world of boyfriends, panoramas, romance, touching in-betweens, and a journey of self-discovery where all obscenities were banished at least until the fifth chapter. By then, the characters actually had a plausible reason to do the dirties. It was so tastefully done, not to mention the other twists and turns that I never saw coming. I was nothing but in complete awe.

Byron: I really loved your story. I liked how they lived happily ever after.

Second_Chance: Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.

Johnny3: Most people like his stories. Unless you’re Evanesce!

Byron: Lol, why?

Second_Chance: He hates happy endings.

I never knew anyone who would despise them to this degree.

Evanesce: They’re just not that real.

Second_Chance: They are real. Good things do happen in life.

Evanesce: For some, yes, they do.

Second_Chance: But why write a sad story when you can write a happy one? What’s the point?

Evanesce: The point is that sad stories are real. Isn’t it better to show everyone the truth than trying to write day-in day-out what some of us will never have?

Johnny3: Hey man…

Evanesce: Anyway, heading off for the night.

Evanesce logged off.

And he was gone. I remained silent, since I knew nothing. Best not to provoke anyone in case they all started leaving me behind. The others though, stayed. It was a while before they spoke again.

Johnny3: What Evanesce needs is a good shag and he’ll forget everything that’s happened.

Second_Chance: I don’t blame him, really. Anyone would go insane.

Johnny3: He used to be better a few years ago.

Second_Chance: Yeah. He needs to find someone and soon.

Johnny3: Agreed.

Second_Chance: Byron, have you ever read Evanesce’s stories?

Byron: No. Should I?

Second_Chance: Really sad stuff…

Byron: He sounds like a sad individual.

Second_Chance: He is.

Then he paused. He didn’t speak for a few minutes.

Second_Chance: Who wouldn’t be sour and bitter if all you did was love, and was never loved in return? Who wouldn’t be, if you had waited all your life and the guy you had always written about never came? You were gay, you knew that. You had never kissed a guy. Your parents threw you out at sixteen, wanting nothing to do with you. Nothing was the ever same again. When you were alone you sat on the couch, your eyes searching and hoping for a distant object somewhere behind the walls and in the end, realise there was nothing all along.

Johnny3: Wow. How come you know all this?

Second_Chance: Ah… I copy-and-pasted it from one of his stories. It may not be what he was going through, but I know I’m not far off. He’s always written about people whose chances for happiness had come and gone and there was nothing left in life for them.

Byron: How old is he? Evanesce, I mean.

I asked them, curious. It was Dan to the rescue.

Second_Chance: Sixty three?

Johnny3: Sixty two!

Byron: Okay.

Guess I’d give that a pass then.

But that aside, bigger questions now dominated my mind. There was no indication that I didn’t equally have to wait this long for someone who was never there in the first place. That I could well end up the same, like him. It was not impossible. Going on this site certainly hadn’t helped Evanesce.

I told them, as a joke,

Byron: I might be like that in fifty years’ time.

But I didn’t find it funny.

Second_Chance: You won’t. What happened to Evanesce is…rare.

Byron: Rare? I am scared now lol.

Second_Chance: Don’t worry... It’s not helpful. You’ll miss out the good things around you.

That was not comforting in the slightest.

Johnny3: Single life has its ups and downs. Sometimes you just have to wait.

Second_Chance: It’s like, what would you rather do at sixty, staring at hundreds of photos of everything you have done, or staring at everything that you could have been? Life is so much more than just finding love.

Byron: Maybe. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m depressed.

I was disappointed. Not even these writers knew how to find love, despite spending all this time writing about it. They were no better than Chris, who basically told me to stay put and wait. I didn’t believe them. I shouldn’t. But if everyone was saying the same thing, could this confirm that it was in fact, the truth? That there was nothing we could do, and damn those who could not find love? Could a person truly be happy by themselves for the rest of their life?

Pause.

Second_Chance: So, what’s your story?

Byron: …What

Second_Chance: You know, you’re here. You’re on a writing site. You must have a story to tell.

Byron: I haven’t got any.

Second_Chance: What brings you here then?

Byron: Meeting people, I guess. Finding the right guy along the way.

Second_Chance: But you’re in the middle of a bunch of writers! Well…you can’t possibly leave without writing something.

Johnny3: We could do with reading something new.

Byron: I’m probably crap lol.

Second_Chance: Aww, we’ve all been there. We’re not harsh. We just like writing and reading each other’s stuff. It’s nice.

Byron: Alright, I’ll give it a try some time. Don’t expect too much though.

Johnny3: I look forward to it.

And that was how I’d been talked into writing. I was excited. Weirdly enough, I already knew what I wanted to write and what my story would be about. The idea struck me like lightning. Maybe there is a way to find love for certain: write. It was that simple. But now the question was how to write it and how, in the space of a few hundred words, I could make David love me.

* * * * *

For my (very straight) friend, whom I love and cherish every moment of the day.

For the fifth time that day he held his gaze like no one else in the world mattered more. He was so beautiful, standing tall, dark and handsome. So mesmerising. Matt should have been licking his lips. But as the sun set that evening and the distant clouds glowed orange, Matt could not bring himself to even move, let alone say goodbye to this boy before him. It would be dark soon. A lone Nightingale was singing on that one small tree to his right, urging them forward. Instead, in silence they stared and Matt embraced the waves of emotions crashing in the depths of his heart.

Finally, Jay asked, ‘Wanna come inside?’

‘Anyone else in?’

‘Nope. We can go on the Xbox or…’

It startled him at first. Was he really going inside Jay’s house? What if he got raped? Surely Jay wasn’t planning on to rape him. It was the first day they’d met but, they felt like they were best friends already, like they knew each other from another life perhaps. In his heart, Matt knew he was the one.

He wasn’t about to confess it either.

‘Okay.’ As he said it he felt the tremor in his own voice. It must have sounded so stupid. His treacherous tongue had all but betrayed his own affection, but Jay noticed nothing.

Matt followed him inside, keeping a respectable distance of a few yards or so. God, what were his parents and his grandparents going to say, going inside a stranger’s house like that? What if he got crushed to human paste? He pushed that thought away. For once he accepted an invitation. That was all that mattered. It couldn’t be that bad. He loved Jay the moment he set his eyes on him. He trusted Jay and, as strange as it might sound right now, he trusted him with his life.

The stairs creaked under their weight. Intrigued by his surroundings, Matt was glancing around, hoping to find clues that perhaps he was not the only one in agony. The porcelain bud vase there must have been a family heirloom of sorts, standing proudly in one corner. Little Pokémon figures on the window sill were Jay’s childhood artefacts, hinting at a life not too unlike his own.

Once they were inside his room, Jay went and closed the door, trapping them both. Matt felt his nervousness return, his confidence dissipated. But then, what has he to be afraid of? He tried to relax again, looking around instead. The clutter around them reminded Matt of his own room. The desk was a mess and clothes were strewn across the red carpet. And because the place smelled of Jay, he loved every inch of it.

Before he could react, Jay had an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. To his surprise, Jay kissed him briefly on the lips.

‘You’re so beautiful, Matt.’ His voice was heavy, desperate. It was all the confirmation Matt needed. Without needing to think, they smiled and kissed again, celebrating their new found love. They were hungry and desperate. Matt was panting, but he didn’t want it to end, not now. He let out a soft, helpless moan, hardly noticing Jay’s grip on his shirt. Jay’s eyes glinted mischievously. They helped the other undress at a frightening speed. The mere thought of what they were about to do sent them wild and fierce, their bodies completely over taken by natural instincts, by the frenzy of it all.

Some time later, they found themselves naked on the bed, completely satisfied with whatever events just occurred moments before. Virgins no longer, they looked at each other and giggled. Despite being taught no sex before marriage, Matt didn’t feel at all guilty. He did it at last, and with somebody he loved, somebody who loved him back. What more could he ask for? But soon their excitement faded as reality once again settled in the air. Neither of them knew what this really meant.

He turned to Jay who was staring at him, affection in his eyes.

‘What are you looking at?’ Matt teased.

‘Someone I thought I’d never meet.’

Matt stared back, smiling. They looked on for minutes, still couldn’t believe their luck, having found the special guy. It was in this moment, perhaps, that they both understood this was the start of something new, a new journey, a new chapter of their lives.

I sat at the screen, refreshing the page every five seconds or so. Within the hour, view counts and comments stacked up like interest rates. They simply grew by themselves. It was a miracle.

Second_Chance: I really like that story! The boys were kind of cute. Good stuff!

Byron: Thanks.

Johnny3: I like it too. But what’s with the fade to black thing? You were setting us all up and then…

Byron: Self-censorship. I’m not eighteen: I’m not allowed to write sex scenes.

Johnny3: Still…?

Byron: The whole thing seems scary. I don’t think I can do it well.

Johnny3: Ah.

Second_Chance: I think this story’s fine without sex. Nothing beats a cute romance!

Johnny3: True, we had porn for that, but I was just curious.

Evanesce: You had a split infinitive. Right from the first paragraph.

Byron: What’s that?

Evanesce: You wrote, ‘To even move’. The infinitive should be ‘to move’. You shouldn’t put any words between the two.

Byron: Okay.

Evanesce: I was going to post a review but I’ll do it here instead. The design is too clichéd. First day of knowing each other and having sex already. And they fell in love. I don’t know what you’re trying to say with a story like that. That these things happen? Unnecessary descriptions were everywhere: the stairs, the bud vase – it bogs it down. Matt randomly staring around the room when Jay closed the door was another example. Simply, why? There was little action or dialogue, and you made very few attempts to make us care about the story and its characters. The whole purpose of this was you wanted to screw this guy, make him love you and there you managed it. It was a self-serving, school boy’s fantasy to say the least.

I absorbed this as silence took the Chat. I read his review again, still trying to stomach it all. But despite the criticisms, every word was true and dead on. I bit my lip.

Byron: Yeah, it was a bit self-serving if you put it that way.

Evanesce: But… the grammar generally sounded. That’s quite rare in your generation.

At least there was one good thing he could say about my story: its grammar. I was happy about that. If one day I could write a story that pleased Evanesce in every single way…

Second_Chance: Evanesce and his grammar lol.

Evanesce: I’d take a look at your subjunctives, Second_Chance. You still haven’t got around to fixing them in your writing.

Second_Chance: Not again!

Evanesce: But overall, Byron, it’s not a horrible story. I have seen much worse. It was a good effort. Keep it up.

Second_Chance: Don’t listen to Evanesce! I loved those boys. So cute

Byron: Thanks Evanesce. Thanks everyone. That really means a lot to me.

I logged off. As I went to bed that night, I wasn’t thinking of storytelling or grammar or characterisation, or even writing in general. It was the people I’d just met. They cared about my story and what was in it because there were guys who valued romance, and they were right there talking to me. Who knew? David was right. This seemed the right kind of place to find the right kind of guy. And what does one do when they have finally found the right place? Apparently, like everyone else, we cast our net into the ocean, and we wait.

He’ll show up.

Eventually.

em>Could a person truly be happy by themselves for the rest of their life?
Well, could they?
 
I sat at the screen, refreshing the page every five seconds or so.
Speaking of which, who does this? I try not to .