by Harper, Lou
She and I had talked about many of our crushes, but had so far avoided the L-word. I hesitated to use it now, but then I did anyway. “Once. With the first boy I ever made out with. I was madly in love with him for months. That was back in boarding school.”
Clay had been two years older me and already experienced. I was smitten with him the moment I first caught a glimpse of him across the schoolyard, kicking a ball around with the other boys. He stood out with his dark curls and the self-confidence. And the way he moved—he had a man’s legs. Unlike the other boys’ skinny thighs and calves, his were toned with muscles. Watching them flex did funny things to my insides. He glanced up, straight into my eyes, and grinned like he knew exactly how he made me feel.
He caught me in the hallway later, and whispered where and when to meet him. He knew all the nooks and crannies and secret hiding places of the school. I showed up to our first secret rendezvous jittery, and left deep in love. In hindsight, everything we had done back then had been pretty tame, but it had changed my life. The memories whooshed through me like a sudden gust of wind. I shook my head to bring it back to the present.
“Then what?” Jo asked.
“Then we all went home for Christmas. He didn’t come back to school in January. I’ve never learned why. I was heartbroken.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve never told me about this.”
“It’s sort of private. I don’t know why I’m telling you now.”
“This happened right before you told me you liked boys, didn’t it?”
Jo had been the first, and for a long time the only person I’d come out to.
“Yup.”
“I knew you were different that summer, but I thought it was the gay thing in general. Hmm.” Jo got a faraway look in her eyes, and her forehead wrinkled in deep concentration. It could mean only one thing…
“Stop it!” I said.
“What?”
“Whatever you’re plotting. I can practically see the gerbil running around in the wheel in your head.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You think everything is about you. I just figured out this trig problem,” she said, turning her attention back to her notepad.
Weirdo.
***
Another week, another Saturday, another blah. This whole not chasing after guys thing had turned me into a frump and a couch potato, and it stood to reason that soon I’d start to sprout. Yeah, Jo thought I should do something to get me out of this funk, but as the Brits say, “I couldn’t be arsed.”
I was lazing on the sofa in some old sweats and T-shirt, watching a Lost repeat by myself—Jo was off with Wayne again—when the doorbell rang. I tried to ignore it, but whoever it was, wouldn’t give up. I finally peeled myself off the couch with a huff. If it was Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I was gonna tell them where to stick it.
“What?” I snapped, yanking the door open.
Roger Hunt stood there like a wall of man-flesh wrapped in denim and flannel.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, sounding more serious than a burst appendix.
“I don’t want to listen,” I retorted and slammed the door in his face. Or would have, but he put one meaty paw out and the door halted like it hit a brick wall.
“Please,” he said.
Shit. He’d said the magic word. He wasn’t going to go away, so I might as well get this conversation out of the way. However, I was in a bind—not comfortable letting him in, but didn’t want to have the talk in the hallway either.
“Meet me at the back door,” I told him after a moment of deliberation.
He nodded and turned around. I locked the door behind him. All the apartments in our buildings had a door opening from the kitchen and facing the parking area out back. In case of second floor apartments like ours it meant a balcony and a set of stairs leading down. I went out that way, leaving the kitchen door open behind me.
Roger and I met halfway down the stairs. We stopped at opposite banisters. He stood one step lower than I did, but we were still almost eye-to-eye. I hated to admit it, but he still looked good. A white undershirt peeked out from the neck of his red flannel shirt and his snug jeans topped a pair of heavy yellow boots, like the ones construction workers wear. I wanted to loathe him, but it proved very hard with him looming there like the hottest lumberjack west of the Mississippi.
“Okay, talk,” I said irritably, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Look, I want to apologize. Last time we had words, I said some things that came out wrong.”
I gave him an F for effort. I might upgrade it to a D- if he turned in an extra homework assignment. “Fine. Are we done?”
His whole body radiated frustration—and some incredibly masculine vibes that I couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard I tried. It had nothing to do with Roger; I was simply too horny.
“Could we just sit down and talk?” he asked.
“Sorry, I can’t stand closet cases.”
His face twisted for a second as if he experienced actual physical pain. “It’s what I’d like to talk about. It’s not what you think. I didn’t say what I said about gays.”
“Right. What then, English majors? People with fashion sense?”
“Rich kids.” He looked chagrined enough to have been telling the truth.
I stuck to my guns. “Likely story.”
“Look, I don’t make a big deal out of it, but I’m out. Ask Dayna; she knows. Hell, ask my parents. I’ll take you to them right now if you want.”
I gaped at him for a second or two. Not many guys offered to introduce me to their parents, even the ones I’d slept with. I had to consider that maybe Roger was telling the truth.
“You hate me because my parents have money?” I asked befuddled.
“I don’t hate you! I never did.”
“No, you have a generic bias against people from wealthy families.”
“Yeah, pretty much. Shit, I’m sorry. My father’s a factory foreman. My mother’s an administrative assistant at the same place. They’ve worked hard all their lives and they still couldn’t afford to send any of us kids to college. After high school, I had to work for two years to scrape up enough for state college and I still had to take financial aid. I had straight As and worked part-time through the whole four years. I’m only here at Jeff-U because I got a full tuition scholarship. Meanwhile, this place is full of kids who just breeze through on their parents’ money. A bunch of them care more about partying than their grades. It pisses me off.”
By the time he finished his speech he was flushed. In my head, I ran through the snatch of conversation overheard at O’Riley’s and it didn’t contradict. Putting myself in his boots, I could understand his sentiments and started to feel sympathetic. Yeah, empathy is a bitch. It took from me the figure of Roger, the arrogant asshole, I’d built up and left me bereft.
“I’ve got a three-point-nine GPA and I study hard,” I said in a feeble fit of defensiveness.
“I know that now. My comment at O’Riley’s wasn’t so much about you, but your company. Although, I noticed how you were coming on to one of them. It might have annoyed me a bit, too.”
“You noticed?” And I’d thought I was smooth.
“You weren’t too obvious, but I guess I was looking for it. My outburst was still inappropriate. I apologize.”
“What about me being the school tart?” I was the school tart, by my own admission, but it’d been rude of him to point it out.
“Well, you get around.”
“So?”
“So it’s been making me incredibly jealous. It was bad enough to be attracted to a rich kid, but every time I saw you, you were after somebody, and getting him, too.” He shook his head. “I mean, Butch Hollins? That guy’s not even gay.”
I grinned. “I know.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Roger said with an amused smile.
“It’s my superhero talent. And I give exc
ellent head.”
“I bet. I saw you follow him upstairs at that frat house party. When you came down, I knew you’d scored.”
Okay, that put a slightly different spin on things. I’d had no idea he’d known I’d had Bill that night.
“So that’s why you’ve been scowling at me?”
“Afraid so. You drove me fucking nuts. I couldn’t look at you without picturing you in all sorts of indecent positions.”
“Oh.” My skin prickled. What did Jo say about the object of the gaze? I sure felt like I was it. I liked it.
Roger’s gaze bored into me as he went on. “After seeing Jo’s painting of you at the show, I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. I’m afraid I made a complete ass of myself. I’m really sorry—it was unacceptable.”
“Well, in light of everything, it wasn’t so bad.”
“Oh yes, it was. When you told me off, it really hit home. I was rehashing that for days. I had to admit you were right.”
“I was?”
“Not about the details of my prejudices, but you were right: I didn’t know you at all. I was a total hypocrite passing judgment. I wanted to apologize sooner, but last time I tried to talk to you at Dayna’s party, you ran off with some guy. So I figured I best let it go before I came across like a stalker.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Jo.”
My jaw dropped. “Huh?”
“She asked if I’d model for her,” Roger explained, like it was nothing.
“She what?” The incredulous words tumbled out of my mouth at a higher than normal pitch. I quickly composed myself.
“A perfectly reasonable request. I’ve posed for drawing classes before. She knows it. So do you.”
My mind filled with images Roger stretched out naked in a sensuous pose on red velvet. I had to see that painting.
“She forgot to mention it to me,” I grumbled.
“You know, she’s very chatty when she paints.”
“Is she really?”
It was news to me; Jo had never said a peep when painting me. She’d even told me to shut my trap and listen to my book when I’d tried to have a conversation during our sessions.
Roger went on without catching the sarcasm in my voice. “Yeah. She talked about all sorts of things, including the two of you, how you grew up together. Stuff. According to her, you’ve sworn off men.”
“What if I have?”
“It gave me hope I could catch you alone at last.”
He said it with a little sideways smile that made an unfamiliar warmth spread through me. It was high time I took the olive branch and offered mine in return.
“Uhm, okay. Heated words were said on both sides. Let’s call it even and forget it ever happened. How about it?”
“I can live with that.”
“Cool. So what now?”
“I’d like to start over. Without preconceptions. Would you like to go out for a coffee?”
“Like on a date?” I asked him incredulously.
“Sure. Generally that’s what people do to get to know each other. Unless you have something against dating.”
“Me? No, not at all!”
***
We didn’t go far; the Louisville Bread Company was two blocks away, on Magnolia Boulevard, and they served an assortment of hot and cold beverages, not only baked goods. We sat outside by tiny metal tables and sipped coffee from paper cups. It was a nice spring day, with only a few wispy clouds smudging the bright blue sky. The leaves on the trees had the manic shade of green unique for this time of year. Just looking at them made you feel alive.
“You look cheerful,” Roger noted.
We sat across from each other. His long legs stretched out, framing mine on both sides. The touch had casual intimacy to it.
“It’s hard not to. I love spring. Don’t you?”
He nodded. “Everything looks sharper; the colors are more saturated. Sometimes I think the purpose of winter is to make us appreciate all the other seasons.”
“Not a big fan of snow?”
“Not here in the city…it’s just a hassle and turns into slush too soon. My uncle has a cabin at the Ozarks and it’s completely different there.”
“Tell me.”
“Crisp white snow as far as the eye can see. The whole world seems to slow down and become very quiet.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“Oh it is. Of course, it’s a nice place all year around. I’d love to take you there.”
My brows shot up of their own accord. It sounded a lot like Roger was making long term plans already.
He didn’t miss my reaction. “Am I being presumptuous?”
The way he looked at me, crooked smile barely hidden behind his cup, told me he knew quite well how presumptuous he was, and had no shame about it. This was another Roger Hunt—not the scowling one or the guy trying to apologize, but someone sure of himself. I wondered if I’d ever figure out all his facets. I wanted to.
Still, I had to play the devil’s advocate. “Considering our history and that we still don’t know much about each other, you’re going a little fast. What if we have nothing more in common than physical attraction?”
“Well, if we don’t, we’ll find out soon enough, right?” Under the table, his legs wound tightly around mine. “Anyway, I feel like I know you quite well already.”
“Yeah right.”
“You’re funny, smart, and a voracious reader. You’re aware of your good looks, but aren’t too vain to let your nerd flag fly from time to time. Evidence suggests you’re slow to anger and will avoid confrontations as long as you can, but once cornered, the claws come out, and God save the other guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up in academia. You like college life too much.”
“You get all that just from chatting with Jo?”
“I’m a good judge of character.”
“Has anyone ever called you a cocky bastard?”
“Occasionally,” Roger said, grinning.
“I still don’t know you.”
“What do you wanna know?”
“Okay, why are you always wearing flannel?”
“What’s wrong with flannel? My mother buys shirts in bulk for my father, my younger brother, and me. They’re practical, especially since I’m constantly messing them up.”
Fair enough. “What do you read?”
“Not much of the usual fiction.”
I gasped in an exaggerated manner, putting my hand over my heart. “I’m afraid we’re incompatible.”
“I read historical novels and nonfiction.”
Ah, better. “Why those?”
“I like knowing the past, the little details behind the big events. People.”
We spent the next hour talking about books and random things, likes and dislikes, plans, families. Roger had a big one—three brothers and a sister, cousins, nephews, uncles and aunts. When our coffee was gone, we bought a couple of sandwiches and kept talking. We sat side by side by then. Roger kept leaning over, touching, almost by accident. I knew I was being seduced, and I liked it.
We walked back to the apartment.
***
As I turned to lock the door behind us, I came within inches of Roger’s body—close enough I could feel the heat radiating from him. The scent of his aftershave mixed with his own musk wrapped around me. It was an underhanded maneuver, sneaking right past my already wobbly defenses. I involuntarily opened my mouth to inhale more of him, and I’m afraid I swooned like a Victorian damsel. A light touch on my arm was all it took. I leaned into Roger, into the soft flannel, warm skin.
We started making out right there in the living room. Roger was as good a kisser as I remembered. Maybe I imagined it, but I thought his hand trembled as he pulled me tighter to him.
“We better stop, if we want to go out,” Roger said, when we came up for air.
“Let’s stay in then,” I said shakily, rubbing my groin to his.
I’d never been good at resi
sting temptation, not seeing the point in it, and Roger pushed almost all my buttons. I put my feet on the toes of his boots to gain another inch-and-a-half in height and kissed him again. Roger slipped a hand into my sweats and between my buttocks. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to come dry humping him by the kitchen door. My onanistic endeavors of the past weeks had been poor substitute for the real thing.
“Bedroom,” I whimpered with a sense of urgency.
“Which way?”
“Hallway, first door.”
Roger held me firm and walked us to my room while I clung to him like a mollusk. After placing me on the bed, he proceeded to slowly unwrap me. He first peeled off my shirt, kissing and nipping his way up from my belly button to my neck in the process. His fingers were rough with calluses, but their touch was unexpectedly tender. That sculpture of his flashed into my mind and I imagined his hand brushing over the raw wood with the same intensity as it did over my skin. Usually, I’d been the instigator and the person in charge in my various affairs with other men, probably because I couldn’t give up control to just anyone. Roger took it without asking, and it felt natural to yield to him.
Next, he pulled my sweats down in a similar fashion. Again, I was caressed from groin to toe. His mouth around my shaft was heavenly—too much so. I came so suddenly it surprised even me.
Roger was unfazed by it. He licked me clean, then pulled up so we were face to face. He still had all his clothes on and I felt deliciously debauched in my own nudity. I wanted him naked, though.
He sat up at the edge of the bed and bent down to unlace his boots. I took the opportunity to kneel behind him and untuck the undershirt from his jeans. As he leaned back into me, I undid his belt, too, pulled down the zipper and slid a hand into his pants. I rubbed his shaft through the cotton of his briefs. He arched, and I slipped my other hand under his shirt into the thick pelt of hair. I buried my face into his neck. I wanted to taste his skin, and my cock stirred with renewed excitement.
At last, he pushed himself off the bed and stripped naked. We eyed each other hungrily. I don’t know what he saw, but my senses filled with all that masculine power—hard muscles, dark hair, and the burn of his dusky eyes.
“Can I fuck you?” he asked in a voice deep and raspy.