Nathaniel Feldmann - Hungry for Love

HUNGRY FOR LOVE

Lunch

Nathaniel Feldmann

Artcover: Kostis Fokas

Copyright: BERLINABLE UG

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved.It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

After breakfast in bed, Andy said goodbye with a kiss. I fell asleep with a smile, bathed in the sun, not a care in the world, southern comforts on my tongue. I woke to a text from Andy;

I had an amazing time with you. Ketchup and all :-P

We texted loosely back and forth for nearly a week. Nothing too personal, a game I knowingly played, always reminding myself not to come off too needy, too hungry. Even if I didn’t know what Andy was thinking, I still wanted to look good, like I had my shit together, my own life going on, but maybe I just looked like a fuckboy.

It’s not like I ghosted him. I’d hold back with the good mornings and good nights and limit myself to maybe a family friendly selfie or a snap of a tasty dish I concocted (he responded “boyfriend goals” to my Coq au vin). Maybe a little flirty text here and there, but neither of us dove into conversation.

I had the intention to ask him out again.

Second dates weren’t really in my vocabulary. Except once or twice before and each time I realized we didn’t share much in common besides the obvious physical attraction. We ended up in bed, not talking, and ultimately never to see each other again, except on a hookup app, willfully ignoring one another.

I hoped it’d be different this time around.

Andy – No Dumplings - Thursday 7:34PM

can you get out of work tomorrow?

What do you have in mind?

Coney Island. the two of us.

I’ll make it happen <3

I had the urge to send a dick pic in response, like giving him a glimpse of my body fresh out of the shower, the lens slightly fogged over, the light cool would make it all the more tempting to see me. Most of all, I wanted to stoke the fire, but he wasn’t like all the other guys who needed a reminder of chemistry. I didn’t want us to get together just for sex anyways, so I kept my chub in my pants.

Friday morning. We agreed to meet on the Carroll St. platform at 10am, or somewhere around then. I was the first to arrive, 30 minutes early to be exact, afraid that the always-unreliable G train would arrive too late and we’d miss one another. I didn’t want Andy to think I was flaking out.

I brought bagels; his toasted and mine not, both stuffed with cream cheese gushing over the sides. I also got him an iced coffee sweetened with too much sugar and enough milk that it was almost white like liquefied ice cream, something similar to the sweet tea he said he loved. I took mine black.

Almost 10, and a train hadn’t passed through the station in twenty minutes, so one was gearing to arrive, full to the brim with angry commuters, and hopefully Andy. I sat on a worn wooden bench in my red trunks and tank top, looking like I was heading for the beach, ready to catch some sun, staring down at the brown bag, my mouth watering in anticipation.

It was going to be a hot day. The underground damp was a welcomed reprieve from the suffocating humidity heating the streets overhead. The sun barely broke through the heavy smog that encased the city in a yellowish-brown cloud, but I expected on the shore we’d see blue skies and calm waters as crystal clear as Andy’s eyes.

I couldn’t wait to dive in again.

10:06. The train finally pulled into the station. Andy walked through those sliding doors and down the platform, his crooked smile framed by two oversized headphones, his curls bouncing. I wanted to hide just to watch him longer. His heart was so full of joy and life. Plus, his legs stunned in mid-thigh high pink trunks that hugged his dick just right, I could hardly wait to pull it out again.

I reminded myself to slow it down, to enjoy the day; it was just the second date.

I raised my hand and it was like he wanted to run towards me, his eyes sparkling and cool. He was fresh and ready, his backpack heavy on his back, his camera around his shoulder, swinging with every step. As much as I wanted to kiss him on the platform I couldn’t shake the feeling like a cloud hung over. I needed to pretend like we hadn’t already seen each other naked, a little secret we both shared, but this was just another game I played to hold back, to not show him too much.

After a long week of thinking about him non-stop, hoping for a perfect day on the beach, I gave him my hand for a shake. Real cool, right?

“Come on, give me a hug!” he said, wrapping his arms around me, and kissing me on the cheek. “I hope you packed towels. None of mine were clean.”

I wrapped my hands around his narrow waist, my dick already getting hard: an immediate reaction to our bodies touching after a week of compulsive masturbation, our first date on an endless loop. His slender form. His smooth skin. The freckles on his cheeks. His lips on mine. His dick inside of me. Our tender rhythms. His soft breathing as he slept. His eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“Always prepared,” I said, showing him the reusable grocery sack filled with towels and sunscreen and a big bottle of water.

I handed him the bag with his bagel and iced coffee tucked inside. Andy blushed as the F train arrived to the station, his shirt billowing in the stale breeze. He took my hand as we stepped into the car, his lips wrapped around his straw, me not able to look away.

“You know exactly how I like my coffee.”

We sat next to each other, our knees touching, and ate our bagels in the peace of a practically empty air-conditioned train. Cream cheese oozed onto our fingers with each bite. Andy licked dollops from the tip of his index. He wasn’t afraid to take big bites either, and we laughed as we tried to chew, Andy spitting a giant chunk into a napkin, nearly choking on the giggles that stuck to the roof of his mouth. The bigger the bite meant the more to savor, to hold in your mouth. I wished the entire breakfast were my cock, a treat he could enjoy with just as creamy of a finish.

We rode through the length of Kings County, the Brooklyn we knew far to the north, a different image of the borough as we approached the shore; the sight of the brutal Trump Village towers, their dull brown bricks rising high into the sunny skies, the unkempt laundry covered balconies, the air-conditioner scarred windows, and each building the same, row after row after row, blocking any view of the sea, Coney just around the bend.

Fresh air rushed into our lungs the moment the doors opened. Seagull caws washed over a sense of calm, an otherworldly feeling of the sun always shining.

Andy held my hand as he took his first step onto Ocean Ave, a pair of strawberry shaped sunglasses over his eyes, moving them onto his forehead as he brought his camera to his eye and took snaps of the kitschy fairgrounds on the other side of the busy road.

We made a pit stop at a Russian grocery down the block. I went straight to the cooler, zeroing in on tall boys that we could sneak into paper bags and drink on the beach, getting day drunk would be another little secret to share.