Chapter Text
He had never wanted for anything, well, sort of. Wanting, desire was present only for a few short moments until it was fulfilled. There was never longing, a prolonged period of lusting after something and then waiting to get it. A car, a new home, someone beautiful in his bed, the inevitability of his requests being answered was taken for granted. It didn’t make him spoiled or arrogant, just complacent, and a touch self-satisfied. He could fake pining for something but he did value authenticity, he wasn’t a sociopath after all, just a very charismatic man with somewhat conventional desires.
Indeed, his family was wealthy, they had more money than most of us can conceive of. As fortune would have it, the universe had endowed him with the uncanny gift of discovering astonishingly fruitful investment prospects. The first few times he hit on something his father considered him lucky, after the next two windfalls everyone knew it went way beyond luck. His speculations had yielded enough income that he never had to report to an office again. This, of course, a blessing and a curse.
Things just came easily to him. It had always been this way. As a child, he knew if he turned on the charm his wishes would be granted, and if his requests were reasonable there would be no resistance. The reinforcement of his behavior was encouraging; toys, treats, special trips to Disneyland, anything he wanted - by being magnetic, enrolling those around him into his fan club. This lethal allure was born of a deep-seated need to secure the unconditional love he felt he never got from his parents. They were very busy people and, of course, they loved him, but it always felt fleeting and temporary to him.
When he was older and didn’t need things from his parents, he used his mesmerizing appeal to get women into his bed. It was astonishingly easy and became less and less interesting to him. Not that he didn’t genuinely care for them, or that he was a selfish lover, quite the opposite. He was magnificently present, lavishing devotion and affection on the object of his momentary attention. But when he was done, it was complete. He had fully experienced the coupling and looked to the next new encounter. It didn’t hurt that he was exceedingly tall and had the build of an elite athlete, his dark blond hair, wavy and full, scruffy beard framing his strong jaw – the intense seafoam blue eyes mesmerizing in their clarity.
He soon turned his attention to beautiful young men. The desire always there, yet not acted upon, until his early twenties. In some ways, this was easier. There were more who wanted less: the appeal of an instant of ecstasy, a temporary worship of the others’ beauty, an appreciation given fully yet not prolonged. When the challenge of luring beautiful gay men into his bed became routine and unremarkable he found himself drawn to straight men. It was more the challenge than anything else. His success rate was lower, and he never tried to close the deal, but the rush was getting them to come on to him. The payoff was richer, taking something that was denied to everyone but him.
None of these pursuits were calculated, they were, in fact, the blessed actions of the unconscious. The curse of awareness not needed because there was no pain, just the transitory gratification of a rarified climax.
Lest you think of him as a psychopath, or at the very least superficial, I assure you he is not. He genuinely cares about people, his interest true and laser sharp. That’s the thing that draws you in, his authentic concern and focused attention. It’s like a hit of heroin; a psychic vampire reflecting back to you all that you ever wanted.
He’s had two actual relationships as it were, lasting 4 months and a year respectively. The first with a woman his senior year at Princeton. She had been a friend, steadfastly refusing his relentless pursuit, holding him at arm’s length just long enough for him to really know her. It was this understanding and empathic connection that convinced him he was in love. It was a relief after all, to know that he was capable of sustained romantic feelings.
The end of college marked the end of the love affair. She went on to graduate school in Washington D.C. with her eye set on a career in foreign service. A long-term lockdown held no appeal for her, ambition diluting her need and desire for him.
For the longest time, he held her in that tired place of the ‘one that got away.’
The second relationship was more complicated. The only thing it can be compared to is a D/s situation without the forced physical component, the consensual abuse was purely emotional. Initially based on a love of surfing and volleyball, two summer gods frolicking in the sun, meeting by accident at a juice bar in Malibu. Let’s call him L. His car, a classic 1946 woodie Ford wagon was the icebreaker, forging a two-hour conversation that ended up at Maestro’s on the beach, drinking until last call.
Pretty quickly L sized up our hero’s modus operandi and reflected back to him a version of his own charm. If you hold two mirrors up in perfect alignment, the image will be reflected endlessly. If you think too much about that, it can make you crazy. And Oliver, as you will come to know him, chose in that moment not to think about it, avoiding introspection to chase the novel experience of gazing into infinity.
The dynamic was in place that first meeting, L leading and then following, Oliver thinking he had the upper hand only to be left hanging as L drifted to the ocean deck to flirt with the bartender. It set the tone for a year of ups and downs, L exerting subtle emotional control over Oliver: exquisite sex followed by casual indifference, a transformative soul melting conversation dismissed the next day as stoned ramblings. It would have driven a mere mortal to despair yet Oliver was fully onboard. At last, he wanted something ostensibly he couldn’t have. And L was a master at dangling the prize just out of reach, dancing on Oliver’s fingertips but pulling away when the grasping began. L’s sexual preference never stated overtly, his fidelity never discussed.
It might have continued for years if not for two things; L was unceremoniously hit by a texting driver on the Pacific Coast Highway and killed instantly. And Oliver met Elio.
Elio
He had always been a loner, not because he hated people, certainly not. He just had enough going on in his head to keep him occupied. He had friends, and could tolerate some time together, but after more than four hours with someone, little things started to drive him crazy: the way they chewed their food, their verbal tics, even their walking pace until he could no longer abide it and made some excuse to get away.
His parents were loving, available, interested in everything he did, and that too colored his perception, there were no locks on the door...not just a metaphor, but a reality. At times their love felt invasive and overwhelming, threatening to absorb him into nothingness. Boundaries blurred, he didn’t know where he started and they ended.
He just assumed it would always be this way. Happier alone he would work on his music, transcribing for hours, playing favorite pieces, listening to the nuances of a treasured recording. He did long for closeness, physical intimacy that he saw his friends share with their boyfriends and girlfriends. How could you want something that you hadn’t experienced? To quote a popular song ‘he ached with a nameless need.’ He had no frame of reference for closeness that didn’t obliterate your sense of being.
Elio drifted down to Rome for the Spring semester. He needed a change of scenery. The music school in Milan had become rote for him and it was his professor’s idea that new surroundings might inspire him. Frankly, he needed space between him and his loving well-intentioned parents.
Dear Elio, completely unaware that his naiveté and disinterest gives him the air of utter aloofness – the siren call for Oliver. It was bound to happen, these two forces drawn together to amuse the universe, a diversion from the endless interplay of night and day, life and death.