I Woke Up Beside Another Man and Didn’t Remember Anything

Bruno woke with the unsettling feeling that he had slept far too deeply. It wasn’t sleep; it was something thicker. A strange taste in his mouth, a warm haze at his temples, as if he had spent the entire night submerged underwater.

The first thing he saw was a ceiling he didn’t recognize: white, high, with a fine crack in one corner. The second was a stranger’s arm resting across his abdomen. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.

It took him two seconds to understand that he wasn’t in his bedroom. Three more to realize that he was completely naked beneath a sheet that was far too thin.

And then, right then, he heard someone breathing behind him. Male. Slow. Satisfied.

—Good morning, handsome —a young voice whispered, snuggling closer against his back.

Bruno turned his head sharply. Beside him, a dark-haired, athletic guy with dark eyes and lips still swollen was sitting up, wearing the typical smile of someone waking after a memorable night.

—What…? —Bruno abruptly backed away until he jumped out of bed, his pulse pounding in his throat—. Who the fuck are you?

The guy blinked, surprised by the hostility, but remained calm. His skin seemed to radiate heat of its own, smooth and firm, an irresistible blend of a twenty-year-old boy and a fully grown man. His chest rose and fell slowly, and a line of muscle ran down between his hips, disappearing beneath the sheet he now draped over his lap without much haste.

—You were very giving last night —he said, tilting his head—. I thought you weren’t the kind to regret things in the morning.

Bruno felt a lash of nausea. He remembered nothing. Not a drink, not a kiss, not a single moment.

—What the fuck happened? I… —He didn’t finish the sentence.

—Are you seriously going to put on the act of the straight guy who doesn’t remember? —The guy frowned, offended—. Really?

—Tell me we didn’t… —Bruno swallowed, cold sweat running down his back.

—That you didn’t fuck me like the world was ending? I could pretend it didn’t happen, but that wouldn’t change reality.

—You son of a bitch, you drugged me.

—Hey, hey, relax. You came on to me. And we would’ve gone to your place if your mother hadn’t been there. And now you’re accusing me of drugging you?

Bruno grew more and more confused. All that reached him were small flashes of light that drove the headache deeper into his skull. Shit. My girlfriend. The thought crossed his mind like a slap.

—I came on to you? I’m not a faggot, I’m telling you. —He violently shoved aside the pillow shielding his crotch—. Either you tell me what you did to me, or I’ll break every last rib in your body.

The guy shrugged, indignant, and pointed to a nightstand opposite the bed. On top of it was Bruno’s phone, propped against the base of a lamp.

—If you think I drugged you, see for yourself. Look at how much you were enjoying yourself.

***

Bruno staggered across the room, feeling the skin in places he preferred not even to name to himself. He picked up the phone. The screen was still recording. With a trembling finger, he stopped the recording, took a deep breath, and pressed play.

The file ran for several hours. The first metallic sounds of the video hammered against his temples. The image filled with movement and lights. He appeared filming himself with the front-facing camera as he left a bar. He recognized the street, recognized his clothes. He didn’t recognize that look.

He walked with a steady stride, far too sure of himself, almost electric. He didn’t look drunk. He looked fired up. Turned on. As if something inside him were demanding attention, skin, contact.

Beside him, one hand firmly on his hip, was the guy from the night before. The same one who was still lying on the bed, watching him.

In the video, Bruno laughed softly, a laugh he didn’t even remember himself having.

—Look at you —he heard himself say—. You knew you were going to end up with me as soon as you saw me, didn’t you?

The guy moved closer and answered with a smile that could be seen perfectly in the recording. There was no doubt: he liked it. A lot.

Watching it in the present, Bruno felt a shiver run down his back. He didn’t recognize himself. Not like that, with a man.

—Cocky boys with that much self-esteem drive me crazy —the guy said on the screen in a playful tone, running a hand over his abdomen.

—I’m not cocky, I’m realistic —Bruno was seen laughing, cocky as hell—. And I’m your lucky break tonight. Water-polo team captain and half of Seville’s fantasy… and today you’re going to find out why everyone wants a night with me.

The guy let out a soft laugh, almost nervous but clearly delighted, and tugged at his shirt.

—Oh, yeah? Prove it.

On the screen, Bruno grabbed him by the chin and kissed him. Not a sweet kiss. A hungry, deep kiss, full of fire. The guy responded in kind, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other at his waist. They pressed body to body, laughing between kisses.

Bruno looked away from the screen and swallowed, bewildered. He didn’t remember any of it, but the chemistry between them was undeniable. And no, he didn’t recognize himself drunk or high. He knew perfectly well what he was like in either state, and neither matched what he was seeing.

***

The video continued. The moment they crossed the venue’s door, Bruno shoved the guy against the outside wall. The music faded behind them, but their laughter filled the phone’s microphone.

—Look at you —Bruno whispered, bringing the camera close to his lips as he caught the other man’s—. You can’t even wait until we get home.

The guy bit his lip.

—I like the way you talk to me —he said, out of focus, his voice thick with desire.

The Bruno on the screen ran a hand down his back to his waist, pulled him against himself, and they kissed again. Slowly at first, then more urgently, more messily. The guy let himself go, completely surrendered, touching him without fear.

Bruno felt his pulse quicken as he watched something that should have belonged to him as a memory but instead felt completely alien. As if he were watching someone else inhabit his body. Disgust and fear filled him completely.

—You’re going to enjoy yourself with me tonight —the Bruno in the video murmured.

He fast-forwarded the recording and pressed play again. More kisses against the wall, hands moving over torsos, necks, backs. Until suddenly he heard himself say:

—This is just a preview.

He saw himself grab the guy by the hair and push him down until he was on his knees. The camera filmed nothing for a few seconds, then returned with a deep moan—his own. Bruno saw himself guiding his own erection into the guy’s mouth, all the way down, with the same confidence he showed with any of his lovers. It wasn’t the other man forcing him. It was him. And, to his horror, he seemed to enjoy it just as much.

The young man on his knees could only swallow eagerly, barely using his hands, astonished that this stranger was perfect in every way.

Bruno couldn’t take any more. He stopped the video. Another wave of cold sweat ran down his back.

—This isn’t me —he said hoarsely, searching for his clothes on the floor.

—You looked very much like yourself last night —the guy replied from the bed.

Bruno dressed hurriedly, ignoring the trembling in his hands and legs. Everything inside his body seemed to remember something his mind couldn’t reach.

—As you can see, I didn’t do anything —the other man insisted—. It was consensual.

—Of course it wasn’t. You drugged me.

—I didn’t even give you any water —he replied, annoyed.

Bruno didn’t answer. He left the house without looking back.

***

Outside, the cold morning air struck him like a punch. Then he saw the twenty-seven missed calls from his girlfriend. This was not the time. It was an outlying neighborhood, low houses, Sunday silence. He walked quickly, not knowing where he was going.

He looked at the phone again. The video was still there, waiting. His finger hovered over the delete button, but something in his chest—a strange pressure, a silent command—stopped him dead.

As if he couldn’t do it. As if something inside him wouldn’t allow it.

He opened the video again and skipped ahead only a few seconds. The scene was much more intense. He saw himself, incredibly horny, moaning as the guy followed him with his mouth, swearing that no woman had ever sucked him so well. Then came the part that churned his stomach the most: he put the guy on all fours and started fucking him without pause, while all his swimmer’s musculature thrust to give maximum pleasure to someone whose name he didn’t even know.

He couldn’t take any more. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and put the phone away as if it were burning him.

—I’m going crazy —he murmured.

But it wasn’t him. He felt there was something else behind all of this. Something that didn’t fit.

***

He called for a car and went to the police station in the district where he lived. He hadn’t chosen it because it was quiet on a Sunday. He had chosen it for one reason alone.

The front desk smelled of fresh coffee and cheap air freshener. When Bruno entered, sweaty, pale, and agitated, the officer on duty looked up.

—Can I speak to Hugo? I’m his wife’s cousin.

—Bruno? —a deep voice said behind him.

It was him: his cousin’s husband.

That man didn’t enter a room; he occupied it. Imposing and broad, with the physique of a former handball player, he looked capable of carrying anyone without breaking a sweat. Nearly six and a half feet tall, he dominated the space, and those enormous shoulders gave him the air of a human wall, solid and immovable.

He was immaculate: the fitted shirt outlined every fiber of his torso, while the trousers emphasized a contour that left no one indifferent. He didn’t need to be seen in uniform to know he was a police officer; it showed in his gaze, his posture, in that tense serenity of someone who knew how to read an entire room with a couple of gestures. At thirty-nine, he had built an outstanding career in intelligence, and to Bruno he had always been a role model.

—I need to talk to you —Bruno said, not quite knowing what to do.

Hugo led him into a small room.

—Tell me. Are you all right? —he asked when he saw the young man’s face.

Bruno took a deep breath and swallowed.

—Something happened tonight. I don’t remember it. Anything. I woke up in a house I didn’t know. With a guy. In bed and…

The officer narrowed his eyes.

—Bruno, take it easy. Explain it to me calmly.

It took Bruno longer than he expected to bring him up to speed, trying not to give any specific details that embarrassed him.

—I would never do something like that. I’m not a faggot.

The officer slowly took notes, watching him closely.

—Really, take it easy. Listen to me: I’m not speaking to you only as an officer, but as family. Nothing leaves this room that you don’t want to leave. Do you have any proof that you were drugged? Any symptoms? Any trace?

Bruno lowered his gaze to the pocket where he kept his phone. He felt the weight of the video. He felt the shame like a blow to the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t show it. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t. A voice inside him was still alive, like an echo buried beneath his consciousness.

—No —he lied—. I just… I just know it isn’t normal.

Hugo placed one huge hand on his shoulder.

—It’s all right. We’ll investigate it. But first, you need to get a toxicology test.

Bruno nodded, unable to answer.

***

The midday light blinded him when he left the station. He leaned against a wall, breathing deeply, feeling his fingers tremble.

He took out his phone again. The video again. That irrational urge to watch it again. And beside it, that inexplicable block: he couldn’t delete it.

He opened the ending and slowly rewound it to the minutes before he fell asleep. Just before he surrendered to exhaustion, he saw it: the two of them kissing, lying down, licking their lips in excitement.

—No, please… —he whispered.

He rewound another minute. He saw himself, aroused, opening the guy’s mouth with his own fingers.

—Ask me for it. Beg for it —he heard himself say, in a voice he didn’t recognize.

—Please, Bruno, give me everything.

He saw himself come inside the young man’s mouth, the other man taking it all without losing a drop, eager to please the straight guy, to prove he had been obedient. But the Bruno on the screen stopped him before he swallowed.

—You’re not going to share it with me after the night I’ve given you?

The guy smiled mischievously, his mouth full, and asked with his eyes whether Bruno was sure. Bruno nodded, took him by the chin, and kissed him.

The Bruno of the present abruptly pulled the phone away and vomited against the wall, a few yards from the police station.

—What the fuck is happening to me? —he murmured as he tried to pull himself together.

And then, for one second, barely a flash in his mind, he saw it: a piece of white leather. A bright light coming through a window. A deep, calm, irresistible murmur.

Relax, Bruno. Trust me.

But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.