Chapter 126 Self-Discovery
Alex: POV
I drove back to my apartment in a daze, my mind still reeling from the humiliating encounter with Mia. The city lights blurred past my window, but I barely noticed them. All I could think about was my body's betrayal.
As soon as I got home, I headed straight for the shower, scrubbing my skin almost raw, as if I could wash away the confusion along with Mia's perfume. The hot water did nothing to clear my head. If anything, it just gave me more time to overthink everything.
After toweling off, I stood in my bedroom, staring at the bottom drawer of my dresser. I hadn't opened it in months, maybe years. With determined steps, I crossed the room and yanked it open, revealing a small collection of porn DVDs I'd kept since college.
"This will settle it," I muttered, grabbing the one with the most explicit cover—a blonde with impossibly large breasts and a seductive smile.
I popped it into my rarely-used DVD player and settled on my bed, determined to prove to myself that I was still attracted to women. The movie started with the usual terrible acting—a plumber arriving to "fix the pipes" of a housewife whose husband was conveniently away on business.
The woman on screen moaned as the plumber touched her, her back arching dramatically as she begged for more. Her breasts bounced with each exaggerated movement, her lipstick somehow remaining perfect despite her increasingly disheveled appearance.
I stared at the screen, waiting for my body to respond. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
"Come on," I growled, forcing myself to focus on the woman's curves, her parted lips, the way she writhed in apparent ecstasy.
Still nothing.
I ejected the DVD and grabbed another one—this time featuring multiple women. Surely this would work. The screen filled with naked bodies, all female, all performing for the camera with enthusiastic moans and cries.
My body remained stubbornly uninterested.
"Fuck!" I shouted, hurling the remote across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, the battery cover popping off and skittering under my dresser.
This couldn't be happening. I'd always been attracted to women. Always. One night with Daniel couldn't have changed that, could it?
Desperate to avoid sleep—and the dreams that might come with it—I threw myself into a frenzy of activity.
First, I hit the home gym in my spare bedroom, pushing through sets of push-ups, pull-ups, and crunches until my muscles screamed in protest. Physical exhaustion might keep the dreams at bay.
When that didn't tire me enough, I turned on an action movie with explosions loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I forced myself to focus on the plot, analyzing the camera angles and set design like I was writing a thesis on it.
By 4 AM, my eyes were burning, but I was still fighting sleep. I switched to reviewing work blueprints, making unnecessary adjustments to the Riverwalk Resort designs. The lines blurred together as fatigue crept in, but I kept pushing, desperate to stay awake.
Eventually, biology won out. I passed out at my desk around 5 AM, face pressed against a stack of papers.
---
I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding and my boxers uncomfortably tight. Fragments of another explicit dream with Daniel lingered in my mind—his hands, his mouth, the weight of his body against mine.
"Motherfucker," I groaned, slamming my fist against the desk. Why couldn't my subconscious give me a break?
The shower did little to improve my mood. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and I looked like I'd aged five years overnight. Coffee helped marginally, but by the time I reached the office, I was running on fumes and frustration.
I buried myself in work, responding to emails and reviewing project timelines with mechanical efficiency. If I kept busy enough, maybe I could outrun the questions chasing me.
Around noon, Mark appeared in my doorway, a rare smile on his usually serious face.
"Hamilton, just the man I wanted to see," he said, dropping into the chair across from my desk. "The board is thrilled with how you handled Marin Village. Turning potential disaster into community support—that's exactly why we pay you the big bucks."
I managed a tired smile. "Thanks. Just doing my job."
Mark's eyes narrowed as he studied my face. "Those bags under your eyes are getting darker by the day. What's going on with you? Sexual frustration?" He chuckled at his own joke.
"Something like that," I replied with a weak laugh. "Just not sleeping well."
"Well, get some rest. I need you sharp for the Pacific Heights project next month." He stood, then paused at the door. "Seriously though, you look like shit. Take care of yourself."
After Mark left, I slumped in my chair, staring blankly at my computer screen. Sexual frustration? If only it were that simple. The truth was far more complicated—and terrifying.
The rest of the day crawled by in a blur of meetings and phone calls. By the time I was packing up to leave, a question had been circling my mind for hours: Was I gay now?
The thought seemed absurd. I'd dated women my entire adult life. I'd enjoyed sex with women—until last night, at least. But the dreams about Daniel, the way my body had responded to him in the desert... those couldn't be dismissed as easily.
Back at my apartment, I found myself googling "how to know if you're gay" like some confused teenager. Most of the results were quizzes that asked ridiculous questions about fashion preferences and musical tastes. I closed those tabs quickly.
One article suggested that exploring gay spaces might help clarify feelings. "Many men find that being in an environment where same-sex attraction is normalized helps them understand their own desires better," it read.
A gay bar. I could go to a gay bar, just to see how I felt. It would be an experiment—purely for research purposes.
I changed into a simple black button-down and jeans, nothing too flashy. After a moment's hesitation, I ordered an Uber instead of taking my car. If I needed a quick escape, I didn't want to worry about driving.
The Rainbow Room was tucked between a vintage clothing store and a coffee shop in the Castro district. From the outside, it looked like any other bar—neon signs advertising beer brands, music thumping faintly through the walls. Only the small rainbow flag in the window marked it as different.
I stood across the street for nearly ten minutes, gathering my courage. This was ridiculous. I was just going for a drink. To observe. Nothing more.
Finally, I crossed the street and pulled open the heavy door. The interior was dimly lit, with a long bar along one wall and small tables scattered throughout.
I made my way to the bar, keeping my eyes forward, trying to ignore the sensation that everyone was watching me. The bartender, a muscular guy with a sleeve tattoo, raised his eyebrows in question.
"Whiskey, neat," I said, sliding onto a barstool.
As I waited for my drink, I risked a glance around the room. Men of all ages and types filled the space—some in tight t-shirts that showed off gym-sculpted bodies, others in casual button-downs or even business attire, probably stopping in after work like me.
The bartender placed my drink in front of me. "First time here?" he asked with a knowing smile.
"That obvious, huh?" I replied, taking a large swallow of whiskey.
He shrugged. "You've got that deer-in-headlights look. Relax. Nobody's going to bite unless you ask them to."
Even though he said that, I still felt quite a few glances sweep over me, sending shivers down my spine.