I've lived as half the man I used to be for the last four years.
I just simply... existed. I didn't feel anything, I didn't indulge in anything I enjoyed, I didn't even hardly smile or laugh anymore.
Or at least I had until a new neighbor moved into my building and captured my attention, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. For the first time in four years, something... stirred deep inside me.
I was obsessed from day one, unable to keep my eyes away from the apartment's bedroom window directly across from my own like a fucking voyeur. The shades were never closed and my view into the mysterious bedroom was never obstructed.
And therefore, the object of my most recent desire was always on display for me, and the more times I watched the show put on, the surer I became that the curtains were left open on purpose for me.
So I found myself staring, waiting, and hoping to catch glimpses of the tanned skin colored with bright tattoos, or the dark brown hair that looked like silk, or the sexy as hell piercing green eyes that would stare back at me as I watched.
The problem though?
The object of my desire, the very thing I'd become obsessed with sexually... was a man.
And I was... straight.
Or at least I had been.
