I want to write this review before i finish the book and my mood improves. This feeling is why i had stopped reading fiction, especially gay fiction. I dont want to waste your time or mine so i’ll keep it short. It’s the author’s first book it seems-he gets better as he goes on. It’s long. It is unputdownable because the narrator is me. I’m sure we share the same birthday. And the story is mine.
<spoilers ahead>
Introverted, super self-controlled, monotonous, awkward, unsocial, friendless, in a boring stable job, loner gets a younger boyfriend who is out of his league. Everything is perfect. Without any evidence just by a very small unnoticeable act he gets a gut feeling he is cheating on him. He gets proven right. The boyfriend has him on a pedestal so is afraid to confess his own dalliances but would not allow the narrator to have gay or men friends out of jealousy. Has slept with everyone and the narrator is always wondering if it was the pizza guy or the cop or mutual friends etc etc. Gets STD. Confronts. Forgives. Everything normal. Catches him in the act. Kicks him out of the house.
<end of spoilers>
I reached this part last night. For the first time ever I could not breathe-i felt triggered. i tried to watch something on Netflix. Didn’t help. YouTube. Nope. So i read some more till i felt he is back in control. But i was still not okay. Porn helped me sleep but i woke up early. I think he is going for a happy ending but how many times is one supposed to forgive?